The most special row . . .

Visiting Daddy’s Study at the church was always a special treat. Everything was always neat and organized, just as it should be. Bookcases lined the walls reaching toward the ceiling like skyscrapers in a city’s skyline. Each book, or set of books made up the windows and floors of the towers with titles in gold and silver on the bindings sparkling as the light shown on them brightly. Amongst the hundreds upon hundreds of colorful jackets, I would always hunt for the most special row.

This row was different than all of the rest. It’s volumes were worn with bindings who’s creases ran crookedly up through the faded lettering. There were little strings peeking out of the tops and dangling from the bottoms, reminding me of vines on an old stone wall after they had lost their colorful leaves and blossoms. When I spotted the row, I would carefully run my fingers over the bindings gently feeling the different textures that time and use had created.

Some were big, others were very tiny. Most had been given to Daddy, over the space of many years. It was fun to think about where each one came from . . . "How about this one Daddy?" I would question with excited anticipation. Daddy would look up from his typing, smile, and tell it’s story, bringing places and people into the study and into my mind where I could visit with them till my heart was content.

At the end of the row, was a stack of bright little white books with golden lettering on their sides and fronts. The page edges were shining with gold and in the exact middle a little white ribbon poked it’s tail out. "What about these Daddy?" Daddy would look up and smile, "Those don’t have their stories yet, Debbie." I’d laugh as Daddy would tilt his head and give me the look that said, you already know this. And I did, but asking Daddy the question filled my heart with glee and as I would practice my counting putting my finger lightly on each one, I knew that as the stack got smaller, that meant there was another baby born into our church family.

Finally I would skip around the room, and around the great desk, till my head rested on Daddy’s arm. Pushing his chair back from his work, he would lift me into his lap, and we would sing . . .
"The B-I-B-L-E, Yes THAT’S the Book for ME, I Stand alone, On The WORD of GOD, the
B-I-B-L-E!!!!"


I love you Daddy!