I silently walked into the room. All was quiet, save for the cheerful chirps of the robin on the windowsill. Through that same window, pale sunlight filtered in and seemed to rest solely on one thing…my grandmother’s Bible.
In an instant I was compelled to lay hold of it, not realizing it was already in my hands. This wasn’t the first time.
As I flipped through the tattered pages, my senses were overwhelmed. My fingers ran across the embossed name on the cover, then touched the frayed edges. Inside, there were lists of marriages, births, deaths, and baptisms of loved ones. The scent of her perfume wasn’t really there, but I could smell it just the same. I could even almost taste her sweet tea. Countless times I caught her in the front porch rocker with her Bible in her lap and a glass of iced sweet tea somewhere nearby, wedge of lemon included.
The thing is, more than memories were drawing me to her Bible. It was also the Bible itself. It contained the secrets of life. The books, chapters, verses—-all a wealth of knowledge, a lifetime of wisdom. Scriptures that were highlighted and underlined jumped out at me, letting me know that God knows exactly what I need and exactly when I need it. Notes in the margin were written in Grandmother’s handwriting. She was a lady who had been there and done that! God’s word had spoken to her many times, and was now speaking to me. That old worn and beat up Bible had helped her through many of life’s heartaches, trials and joys. Now it was guiding me. That Bible that was falling apart, was full of God’s promises, and it had belonged to a woman who used it to keep herself together. She stood on those promises and used them to see her through whatever came her way.
The life that she lived was a testimony, an encouragement, an example. She taught me what life was all about–having a true and devoted walk with God, our Father, our Creator, our I Am.
This woman, this Bible, all a part of a legacy left to me…calling me to leave a legacy of my own.
This is a story that just came to me one morning as I was getting ready to sit and read my own Bible. It’s not a true story of mine or anything, but it is a story I hope my grandchildren will be able to write about me someday.