Here’s a short blog post to wish my faithful readers a Merry Christmas. I want to take this opportunity to talk about a Christmas present I got in 1943 when I was seven years old. Would you believe I still have it? How many of my readers, I wonder, can say they still have a present from their childhood? (I’m assuming most of these folks are of a certain age.)
How can I be so sure, you may wonder. Because the date is written right there on it. I also know exactly who gave it to me—Bessie and Hill Bostick—my grandparents. Their names are under the date.
It is, of course, my very first Bible. Since I’m eighty-one the Bible has been around seventy four years. King James version, of course—what else was there back then? Red letter edition. Tiny print and lavish fine art illustrations such as Cain and Abel just before the world’s first murder, or the walls of Jericho coming down.
The cover wore completely out but I couldn’t bring myself to throw the Bible itself away. It’s been with me every time we moved to another place—Labrador, Arkansas, Texas, and back to Westlake—wrapped in brown paper to protect the interior. I finally decided enough was enough and found a place in Mississippi that rebound books. The original cover was black imitation leather, but I love red so that’s what I went with—this time with genuine leather.
It’s one of my most prized possessions and I pull it from the shelf from time to time to enjoy the illustrations and the language of Shakespeare. I don’t take it to Sunday School and church—I use a modern translation study Bible for that. But when I want to remember a simpler time when the Christmas season wasn’t so frenetic, when children were happy with one or two gifts, I reach for my little red Bible, grab my magnifying glasses, and return to 1943.
I’m thankful I had grandparents who wanted me to always have a guide for life’s journey.
Once again—Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all. May 2018 bring everything you hope for.