Unbolted


Washing my hands at the sink, I eye that little book. I smile. If there was ever a book proven overused …





































I dry my hands on the frayed towel and reach for it. The binding is loose. The book jacketall that holds it together. Leaning back against the sink, I turn page by tender page.

This page stops me in my tracks
 
“When Noah knew the ark was resting on solid ground, he unbolted the door.”





































My mind travels back to my youthful days of faith training, of being encouraged to never open the door to traveling religion salesmen. My tender youth and tender faith weren’t strong enough to stand, I was told. But as the years of walking with the Lord press against my heart, my mind unearths what a walk with Christ presents.

I turn a tender page

“Out came Noah and his wife, his sons and their wives.”

I turn

“Then followed all the animals.”

From the long walk, this life with Christ is not about religion. It’s a relationship.

There is no fear of unbolting that door. The relationship is my life, and it’s all I have to pour out. And it’s all I need. It’s the binding, holding me together. It’s enough.

It’s me, resting on solid ground … and love unbolted.

Another tender page turns

“God was pleased.”

While returning the worn, endearing book on the old shelfboth evidence of my growth, my age, the yearsI notice the words on the back cover

“It rained and rained ….” Oh, the rain in my life.





































Turning to my girls, I wrap each one in a hug goodnight. Their love for Jesus, written on their faces, grows more evident each passing year. In that embrace, tender hands pat my back ever so gently.

I remember and long for the sweet hug pats my grandmother always gave me.

And there is proof, in the simplest of things …

God’s promises unfolded …

love unbolted.

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