It was huge. Massive, with countless shelves crammed full of books. Each one was a different color, 
size, shape, and story. I started at the bottom, pulling out book after book and reading each one. 
Each book was crammed full of lies, twisted perceptions. Each one became more and more ridiculous. I 
began tossing all the evil-worded atrocities into the large fireplace beside the shelf. One after 
another burned, was eaten alive by the flames. I rushed through book after book, shelf after shelf, 
until I reached the very top shelf. The hardest shelf to reach, so high was it towering above all 
else. I strained to reach, but could not. I got a ladder so i could finally go through the last 
shelf. There was only one book, and it was the dustiest of all. However, it was peculiarly new 
looking, as if it had never been used. Puzzled, I wondered why no one would want to read this book. 
I opened the thick volume and began to read.

I read Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, and all through the section of the book marked "New Testament," 
devouring each word. My puzzlement intensified as I read the beautiful things this book had to say. 
I turned to the other slightly bigger section labeled "Old Testament" and began to read. 

Not a word of this book did I burn. I took the book and placed it beside my bed, where I could look 
upon it daily and learn from its words, reach for it in my time of need. I destroyed the old 
bookshelf, the bookshelf that had once been filled with such evil, but now was completely empty. The 
only book I needed had been there all the time. "I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not 
sin against you." (Psalms 119:11)