The Hardy Boys

I was raised to be a reader. Our whole family read constantly, and the books we read the most were mysteries.

My big brother had a full set of Hardy Boy books.  (To this day, I have never known how he came to be so rich!) I read them all time and time again.  While the Clock Ticked. What Happened at Midnight. The Tower Treasure. Then there were the Nancy Drews and the Trixie Beldens.

As I grew a little older, I was allowed to check out books from the adult side of the library. That was a big day, and I immediately entered the world of Phyllis Whitney and Mary Stewart and Daphne DuMaurier. (If you have never read Rebecca, then you should do so immediately. It is probably the greatest mystery/suspense novel of all time.) And of course, we must never forget Agatha Christie and Erle Stanley Gardner of Perry Mason fame.

I guess the picture of my childhood reading material is pretty clear. It also probably follows that I became quite the spooky child. Our house was big and old and creaky, and more than one night I dragged my pillow and blanket to sleep on the dining room floor outside Mother and Daddy's room. My imagination ran marathons.

The first night I ever spent alone was when I was in college. I moved furniture and barricaded doors. But over the years, I have gradually become less afraid. I can lock the doors, crawl in bed and go to sleep even if I am alone.

Because whatever happens, I am not alone. I am safe. I have learned to trust in the one who is greater than all my fears. And that is no mystery.

"I lie down and sleep;
I wake again, because the LORD sustains me."  Psalm 3:5


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