Rescued From the Dumpster

I was once given the opportunity of perusing large shelves of books that were to be thrown out within days. "Take what you want. It's all going in the dumpster," I was told. If there are two words a book lover doesn't want to hear together, it's "books" and "dumpster."

A lot of what was in the long shelves was dated, in bad shape and not worth keeping. But as all book lovers know, amid the dusty tossables, there may lurk some hidden gems.

I found several such gems that day years ago that I have treasured ever since. One very early morning recently, I was in my rocker with my coffee when a specific diamond came to mind. Where was it? In the semi-regular panics I get when I can't find one of my favorite books, I jumped up to hunt for it. The book was small, black, and it was missing. I started burrowing deep on the shelf where I kept some of my favorites, and there it was. With great relief, I sat down and began to read the beloved yellowed pages once again.

The title is, "The Shepherd Psalm" by a man named F.B. Meyer. A touching inscription in the front says, "Marie L. Schwanke from Father 1930." My mind went back over 100 years. Who was Marie, and who was this father who loved her enough to give her this little treasure of a book? A brief search online showed that her father was Frederick Schwanke, a Lutheran minister. Somehow, this little black book ended upon a shelf at a radio station, ready to be thrown out, and then to my bookshelf with other spiritual gems long forgotten .

The book is a commentary on the 23rd Psalm. The language is so beautiful that you can read and reread a passage multiple times. Originally written in 1885, F.B. Meyer's love for the Great Shepherd shines through every line he wrote. There are old copies still avai;able, and some scanned reprints as well. You can also read it online for free here. Maybe this nearly discarded treasure would be a comfort to you. Here is a passage.

The Psalm of Psalms

"Three thousand years have passed away since the sweet singer of Israel first sang his Psalm about the shepherd-care of God. Thirty centuries! It is a long time! And in that vast abyss, all the material relics of life have moldered into dust.

The harp, from the strings of which his fingers swept celestial melody; the tattered hammer, which he was wont to uplift in the name of the Lord; the well-worn book of the law, which was his meditation day and night; the huge sword with which he slew the giant; the palace chamber, from which his spirit passed away to join the harpers harping with their harps--all these lie deep amid the debris of the ages.

But this Psalm--though old as the time when Homer sang, or Solon gave his laws, and though trodden by the myriads of men in every succeeding age--is as fresh today as though it were just composed. Precious words! They are the first taught to our children, and perhaps the Holy Child Himself first learned to repeat them in the old Hebrew tongue beside His mother's knee in Nazareth; and they are amongst the last that we whisper in the ear of our beloved ones, standing in the twilight between the darkening day of earth and the the breaking day of heaven. The sufferer in the sick chamber; the martyr at the stake; the soldier on his sentry duty; the traveler amid many perils; the Covenanter; the Huguenot; the Vandois--these, and a multitude, which no man can number, have found in these words a lullaby for fear, an inspiration to new life and hope. "The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want."

(From Chapter II The Shepherd-Lord)

In future posts, I hope to share more about the dust-covered gems I discovered that day. They were rescued from the dumpster and have found a place in my heart and soul. In the dark age in which we live, the truth of God's Word shines through the darkness in these books, and that light is sorely needed on life's path.

Here is a congregation singing the metrical version of Psalm 23. (This is Spurgeon's old church in London.)