My daughter Pat came over this morning and opened boxes of books.  We got them all on the bookcases, but not in any order.  I bet there were twenty or more Bibles.  Ken's, mine, my mom's, my dad's, Ken's mom and dad's--and that was just the King James versions.  I gave a bunch of them away--so I was surprised that there were so many of them left.

All I need is two.  I am addicted to King James because of the poetic language, and I have to have the Living Bible to make everyday sense of it all.  Some very close "Marine Friends" of ours got us started in the Thompson's Chain Bible in 1962.  When our friend retired, he went to work as Billy Graham's personal assistant for the next forty-five years.   Henry and Betty Holly.  Great friends from our past.

My Bible looks like a rat's nest.  Coffee spills on the pages, tears in the edges, missing leather where Squig tried to chew a little Holy Scripture, and pencil notes on most of the pages--some pages are so worn out I can't even read the notes that I wrote.  Forty-five years is a long time.

I like to write in my Bible.  If I hear something I want to remember, I write it in the margins.  Otherwise I forget it.  There is too much to remember and my memory has gone South.  And when I teach that particular part of Scripture again, I don't have to do as much research.

I told you that Genesis is the book I have spent many hours in.  The first and second chapters of Genesis in my Bible look like a mess.  Very stained.  Six or seven chapters later, the pages are white because I didn't spend as much time there.

I haven't found my Bible yet.  I thought I put it in the car.  I didn't.  I feel rather lost without it.  The words are the same in all the Bibles on the book shelf, but they just doesn't "feel" right.