She reaches high and gently pulls her childhood Bible off the oak shelf. The black one, the King James Version, a cherished Christmas gift from her Grandma and Grandpa back in 1964. She opens the frayed and fragile leather to trace the childish writing with eager eyes and fingertips gentle.
And she quietly smiles in recognition and delight.
For there in fading ink that once flowed blue reads the date of her redemption. All of 49 years ago. When she came to Jesus, little soul broken wide open and weeping tears of regret and relief in the front pew of the church. And He saved her from her sins. All 10 years of them.
And far too many that were to follow.
This is Holy Week's yearly gift of sweet remembrance. Matchless grace so very much undeserved, another milestone reached, decades flying by far too fast. And she ponders the blessed mystery, the unimaginable treasure she clings tightly to, the truth that gives her peace and joy.
That it was for her eternal salvation that Jesus bore untold agony, His blood painfully poured in rivers flowing down. This ultimate sacrifice of sacred love, such a merciful miracle, is all too glorious to imagine. With deepest gratitude, she attempts to etch her soul-deep adoration onto paper with yet more ink that flows blue.
And once again, her eyes fill with tears that spill. The pen is put aside and she raises her hands high to heaven, her oh-so-grateful soul overflowing with wordless praise.
* adapted *