"Book of Love" by Carlene Schaff

Growing up, I did not understand what alcoholism was, how it can smother the goodness in a person. I only knew Dad's drinking meant, tears for mother and insecurity for us kids. And it meant we should not expect anything special.

Christmas was the exception. We could ask for the one thing we had been longing for all year. When I was ten years old, my Christmas wish was for a white Bible with a zipped cover. A girl in our church had one, and I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

When Christmas came, though, there was no white Bible. Does not Dad care about me? I thought, blinking back tears. I looked at him, but he would not meet my gaze.

When a neighbour dropped by later and asked if I had gotten my wish, I could not stop myself from telling her. "Every time I go to the store," she said, "I will bring you back the change. You will have your Bible before you know it." The day I reached my goal, I ran to the bookstore and picked out the Bible I wanted. I even had my name printed in gold on the cover.

I used that Bible until it was not white anymore and the binding had to be taped. When I went to college, our church gave me a new Bible, so I tucked my old one away at home.

While I was at school, Dad's drinking binges escalated. My mother and younger siblings had to flee the house and leave everything behind. I refused any contact with Dad after that. I could not let go of the hurt and anger I had toward him.

Some years later, I received a phone call telling me Dad had died. Apparently things had gotten so bad at the end that he had been living out of his car. Now, on top of the hurt and anger, there was grief - for the man lost to drink, and for the loving father I wished he could have been.

After the funeral, I went through Dad's few remaining possessions. Inside an old box carefully tied with a string, I found my white Bible. I unzipped the cover. Snapshots spilled into my lap - pictures of my mother, my brothers and sisters and me, smudged and dog-eared.

I flashed back to the Christmas morning when Dad would not meet my eye. Maybe holding on to my Bible and our pictures was his way of making up for all the love he had wanted to give us but was not able to.

It was time to lay the past to rest. Hugging my old white zippered Bible to my chest, I released my hurt and my anger and my grief and gave it all to God, the Father who loved me when my earthly one could not. (Courtesy: Guideposts, Dec,1999)