When I opened it, my oldest daughter said, “I don’t get it.”
My mom gave me her Bible. Her old one. The small red-leather Bible I watched her carry to church when I was little. The same Bible I watched her read from countless times.
It’s worn around the edges and marked on the pages — evidence of much use. Mom’s been using a different Bible for some time now. But this is the Bible I remember growing up.
This is probably the greatest gift we can ever give our children. A heritage of the Word.
Join me over at Raising Generations Today, where I’m writing about the heritage we can give our own children — a heritage of the Word.