'Til death do us part....and then some books.

I moved to Eugene six years ago, with only two bright green suitcases of belongings. Six years later here, and I have an entire house full of stuff. Just to name a few: memorabilia, weird gadgets, clothing, children, and books. A few children, and lots and lots and lots of books. Books about philosophy.  books about Russian people. Poetry books. Rare antiquated books. Oversize dictionaries. Children's books.  Cook books.  Books about the Bible. The bible itself.  And, finally, cowboy books.

Books everywhere.  Books in the bathroom.  Books in our bedrooms.  Books shoved in cracks and corners.  And 90 percent of them are Isaiah's books.

In the excitement and nervousness of our wedding day, there was something I must have missed during our wedding vows. I remember some hazy talk talk promises.  I remember putting our rings on the wrong fingers.  I remember it was really hot. What I don't remember at all promising to be the eternal caregiver of all of Isaiah's books.  Perhaps I blocked that part out?

Don't be alarmed by my hazy memory.  I was told by the person officiating our wedding (father in law) that his "sermon" was meant more as an encouragement to the already married people in the audience, because he is reasonable and doesn't expect the bride and groom to actually be listening to anything as they stand in front of a bunch of people nervously.

Anyway, We have carefully moved Isaiah's books to six different locations. The heavy ones, the ugly ones, even the ones that are never read, have all been boxed up and transported from home to home.  My pleas for him to sift through them and give ones that aren't really read to a new home were all shot down.  He was not giving any of his books away, and he wants them all to be visibly displayed in our home, no matter what the size of our house is.

But being the perfectly patient person that I am at all times, I have complied with his wishes to keep all of his books, AND find creative ways to visibly store them in our house.  So we have carried them through our life together, from house to house and bookshelf to bookshelf.

Recently, my 20 month old son has been handing me philosophy books and looking at me with big brown longing eyes saying "Please read me so I can understand the significant philosophical ideologies of this author."  And the other day, I found two small children swimming in a lake of Russian novels while looking through Isaiah's high school year book.

I suddenly had a melt your heart moment when I realized how much these books have become a part of our life together.  Being read regularly or not, they are so familiar that they provide a source of comfort and familiarity. They are no longer "Isaiah's books" but the books that make our home what it is.  For the past 6 years, they have been resting happily on their shelves, almost as if they are members of our family.  They serve as a continual reminder of who I married:  A sentimental man who wants to keep everything because it reminds him of something important. And a man who loves knowledge, an understanding of truth, and cowboy life. What more could a woman want in a man?