A Bible lies tattered on the floor, beside God's treasured photo album, both are stepped on and dirty. The album holds His pictures of the world, the worst time and the best times.
God walks into the room. He picks up the Bible first, dusts it off. Then he picks up the album, wipes it clean as well. He puts them on the table then leaves that little cabin in the forest.
The next day, God walks into the room again. The Bible is on the floor again, beside his photo album again. And this time there is a confused human being on the floor beside them. All three are dirty, trampled.
God picks up the human first, tending solely to him first. He wipes him clean and lays him gently on the bed to heal. He lays a blanket over him.
Then he turns to take the Bible off the floor, dusts it off. He wraps it in a clean cloth.
Lastly, he takes His album, wipes the dirt off, puts it in its box.
All three of these had been dishonored, and He loves all three.
Though I guess if He loved the past the most He'd have rescued the album first so He could keep his record straight.
And if He loved His Bible above the human soul he made He'd have taken up the Bible, cleaned it off, then tended to the man last.
The Bible is only part of God. It doesn't comprise all of God. He can't be condensed into a book, after all. But the human is like God, made in his image, and God is in him completely, even while the man has amnesia.
And the man forgot that part.
But God remembers.
I trust God to remember what we forget.