Anyone who reads this here little blog knows I am something of a bibliophile. My days usually begin with The Book and end with another book.

Earlier this summer we had someone do a test on our foundation as it seemed to be sagging a bit. I joked with my wife, “It’s all those books we’ve accumulated at a rapid pace. The books are beating down the house.” Alas, the books aren’t winning, the inspector said our house is doing just fine.

I self-consciously set my reading course for 2014 to be one in which I would buy and read fewer books. But, as I stand here on this final day of 2014 and look at the sagging shelves in my study I’m confronted with the truth of it all: the shelves cry out in pain because I purchased and completed more books this year than any other.

160 books were read cover to cover. I bought more.

Much like my post on 2013’s total list, I’m left wondering today if all the reading is good or bad. Am I idolatrous or studious? Is 160 a consequence of worthy rumination or simply one worthy of remonstration? I don’t know.

Here’s what I do know: books build my soul in myriads of ways, but not as powerfully as The Book does. I think I held that perspective well this year, and I want to do so even more next year. My conviction then going into 2015 is going to be different than in years past. I really don’t care how many books I read as long as The Book receives my most ardent love and attention.