ValueSpeak
A Weekly Column
By Joseph Walker
MOM'S OLD, USELESS BIBLE
To tell the truth, I don't remember seeing Mom
actually read her old Bible. As far as I
could tell, it just sat on the night stand next to her bed.
And that was the best place for it, since it
probably wouldn't have survived any meaningful usage anywhere else. The black cloth cover was ragged and
time-worn, its dog-eared pages yellowed with time. Once I accidentally knocked it off the night
stand, launching loose pages all over Mom and Dad's bedroom. I expected a tongue-lashing for my
carelessness (and believe me, this was no small expectation, since Mom
delivered a tongue-lashing like Pavarotti delivered an aria with the
practiced precision and stunning power of an artist). But Mom was so busy gathering the pages,
gently smoothing them and returning them to their place in the book that she
paid no attention to me.
Soon after I moved away from home my sister Kathy
and I combined our funds to buy a new Bible for Mom for her birthday. It was a black leather volume, twice as big
as her old Bible. The pages were trimmed
in gold, and there were maps, references and a complete Bible dictionary
included within its pages. We even had
her name engraved on the front with gold-leaf lettering.
It was a beautiful book, and Mom was touched and
pleased with it. I remember watching her
thumb carefully through the pages, admiring the quality of the paper and the
clarity of the printing. From that day
on, it was the Bible she took with her to church, and the one from which she
read during the family Nativity pageant.
But for some reason, it never displaced the old Bible from its position
of honor on her night stand. And that
kind of bothered me.
"I don't know why you keep that ratty old
thing," I told her as we prepared to pack it among her most precious
belongings for what would turn out to be the last of many
relocations in her life this time to the warm, heavy air of
Mom smiled at me weakly and sat on the edge of her
bed, carefully wrapping the old Bible in an equally old, equally shabby white
shawl.
"Just because a thing isn't useful anymore,
that doesn't mean it isn't valuable," she said softly, deliberately. "You look at this and see an old,
worn-out book. But I see the gift your
father gave me on our wedding day. I see
the friend that was always there to provide strength and comfort when your
father was sent to
"This Bible has been in the family as long as
we've been a family," she continued, caressing it through the tattered
shawl. "It's part of us, part of
our history, part of who we are. So even though it isn't especially useful
anymore, there is still value in what it represents. At least, there is to me."
Suddenly it occurred to me that she wasn't just
talking about her old Bible. We live in
an age of fanatically obsessive utilitarianism.
Everything is disposable even people.
If it's old or odd-looking or not particularly useful, toss it or him,
or her out. We forget that there is value beyond utility, and worth beyond
"what's in it for me now."
When Mom died Dad gave me her "new"
Bible. It's among my most cherished
possessions. It means a lot to me, and
it really is beautiful and incredibly useful.
But I'd trade it in a minute for Mom's old, useless Bible.
I even have the perfect place for it: on the night
stand next to my bed.
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© Joseph Walker
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