Two or three years ago, having heard that my Dad needed a new large-print Bible, I drove across town to the Lifeway Christian Store and purchased him one. Of course, it was the King James Version, the only kind he had ever known.
I wrote his name in the front and added this: “In appreciation for the Bible you bought me for Christmas, 1948.”
In presenting it to him, I said, “Dad, I want you to do me a favor. Mark it up. When you read something you particularly like, underline it or write in the margin.” That was a new thought to him.
Dad grew up in the generation that was taught not to mark in Bibles. That’s why the Bible which belonged to his mother, my Grandma Bessie, who died in 1982, and which Bible I own, has very few notes in the margin. She was such a godly woman with excellent insights; I would have loved for her to have marked that Bible up.
On November 3, 2007, at the age of 95 years and 7 months, my dad went to Heaven. The next day, when I arrived, one of my sisters handed me the Bible. “Pop wanted you to have this back,” she said.
There on the presentation page where I had lettered his name and written my appreciation, he had added, “At death, give back to Joe.”
A word about his handwriting. For a man with only a 7th grade education, and a lifelong coal miner at that, Pop’s writing style was impressive. He used to tell us how the schools in his childhood taught classical penmanship to the students. He would hold the pen in a certain way and move his hand around in circles. “We practiced these exercises until we learned to write well,” he would say.
The other morning, two months after Dad’s death, when I remarked to Mom about his notes in this Bible, she said, “Even at the last, he still had this beautiful handwriting.”