How I Found Great Used Books . . . and a Dose of Grace

Photo by freddie marriage on Unsplash

Except for my garden, which is a blend of hobby and post-apocalyptic planning, I don’t have any hobbies.

I have a lot of things I do occasionally, like travel, watch football, and drink at a bar. I also exercise and pray regularly. I don’t think the former rise to the level of hobby, and the latter don’t fall to it.

I have one thing that could be a hobby for me, if I were able to do it more often: Shopping at used bookstores.

I live in a small town, away from the great metropolitan centers and at least an hour away from any university libraries. In order to do any research, I must rely on my own library, which I have been building since my early twenties. As a guy with a zillion kids, I can’t spend a lot of money on books, so I’ve built my library largely with used bookstore finds.

The used bookstore is like a slice of magic for me (this is nauseatingly exaggerated, of course, but I’m trying to make a point).

First off, they’re usually in cruddy sections of a city; not the crime-ridden or seedy sections, but usually off the beaten track and in poorer neighborhoods. So finding one is usually like stumbling across a treasure island.

Second, the bookstore itself could be good or bad: Some bookstores are those horrible Harlequin…