Few things thrill me more than unearthing treasures that, for too long, have lay hidden in old books. Just such a treasure is Bishop Gilbert Haven’s sweet reflection on his mother’s Bible–a fitting piece to share on this Mother’s Day. I hope you’ll read it and be blessed by it.
On one of the shelves in my library, surrounded by volumes of all kinds, on various subjects, and in various languages, stands an old book, in its plain covering of brown paper, unprepossessing to the eye, and apparently out of place among the more pretentious volumes that stand by its side. To the eye of a stranger it has certainly neither beauty nor comeliness. Its covers are worn; its leaves marred by long use; its pages, once white, have become yellow with age; yet, old and worn as it is, to me it is the most beautiful and most valuable book on my shelves. No other awakens such associations, or so appeals to all that is best and noblest within me. It is, or rather it was, my mother’s Bible—companion of her best and holiest hours, source of her unspeakable joy and consolation. From it she
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