“She’s a keeper, Paul!”
My sister-in-law had just met the Lovely Young Lady for the first time. She wasn’t wrong. I’ve done my best to hold onto her for the last forty-five years.
A keeper.
“That’s a keeper, Paul!”
The neighbor boy, Warren, yelled the phrase down the banks of the drainage ditch. I had just landed a large perch with my old cane pole, my bait being one of the long, wriggly earthworms we had dug up just moments before. We kept the perch, along with a few more that day.
“You kids need a keeper!”
The words of disgust came from the lips of an aging passerby in the shopping mall. They were aimed at the group of rowdy band kids who hooted, and whistled, and wrestled, oblivious to the constant parade of grown-ups around them.
We probably did. Need a keeper, that is.
All of the above events came to mind during my sleepless hours last night. My brain has been wrestling, trying to come to grips with the immense meaning of a tiny word.
Keep.
Our use of the word is almost exclusively understood to mean retain possession of. It means that. It does.
But, it means that and so much more. The original meaning of the word implies (besides possessing) holding tightly, guarding closely, and even fighting for.
Castles in medieval times had a keep, a fortified castle within the castle, intended as a last defense, a place of ultimate shelter where enemies could not break through. It was a place of protection for the defenseless, of strength for the weak, of safety for all that was valued.
The passages in the Bible that speak of God keeping and blessing mean well more than simply being His; they imply being held and guarded against all dangers, dwelling in His fortress—His castle keep.
A strange subject to mull over in the small hours of the morning, you think?
I don’t disagree.
The fodder for my thoughts had only been introduced moments before I finally succumbed to the tyranny of the clock, well after midnight. I laid myself on the bed knowing I would not sleep because of the turmoil inside my brain.
Often, the late night hours are a time when I chase my ancestors into the past—perusing old books, searching online databases, and thumbing through materials in my keeping from family members who are gone but not forgotten. Last night, I found something that grabbed my attention.
I’ve flipped through the pages of the old Bible before. It was my great-grandfather’s, given to him by his mother in his 18th year. The date on the flyleaf is January 1, 1881.
I’ve never found anything of value to my search in its pages before, besides the mourning ribbon for President Garfield upon his assassination nine months after my forebear received the Bible. I think I may have even seen this little yellow ribbon previously and gone past, dismissing its message in my search for facts.
The ribbon in the pages of the little Bible says simply, “Keepers.” I cannot find any context for it in my searches for who my great-grandfather was.
And yet, there is context to be found.
It’s easy to believe, at times, that we are worthless—merely sinners living in a fallen world. We who follow Christ know that we are redeemed, but often we are discouraged, believing that things will never change—that we will never change.
The reality—a reality reinforced again and again in the old Book—is that we are keepers.
Worth being held.
Worth being protected.
Worth being valued.
Keepers. Kept by a Keeper. Who will do all those things. And more.
That ribbon has clearly lodged at the same place for many, many years. You can see where the color has leached into the paper on either side of it.
Last night, I read the passage where it sits. I think I needed to be reminded.
For you have been born again, but not to a life that will quickly end. Your new life will last forever because it comes from the eternal, living word of God. As the Scriptures say,
“People are like grass;
their beauty is like a flower in the field.
The grass withers and the flower fades.
But the word of the Lord remains forever.”
(1 Peter 1: 23-25, NLT)
I’m keeping the Bible. And the ribbon.
I’m still looking for clues to who my ancestors were. But, I know who I am. It’s who you are, too.
Keepers.
With a Keeper.
Living here in His keep.
Protected. And, blessed.
The Lord bless you and keep you;
The Lord make His face shine upon you,
And be gracious to you;
The Lord lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace.
(Numbers 6:24-26, NKJV)
The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned. (Maya Angelou)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2023. All Rights Reserved.