“For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any double-edged sword” Hebrews 4:12
“Oh my goodness!” my grandma gasped. “What? What is it?” I questioned her. I had just walked into her home with my can of pop, and set it down, when I noticed that she had baking ingredients sprawled all over the table.
My grandmother lived in her sister’s home for years, after her sister, Great Aunt Edie had passed away. It was a big, old, white, two-story. Nothing lavish about it, and certainly no counter space in the makeshift kitchen. But, oh, how my Grandma loved to bake! She would spread all of her ingredients out on the table, as to not forget anything, and she allowed me, this little kid to help her as we’d whip up “delicious, delectable, delightful” concoctions. Thos were her favorite three words to describe something yummy.
It was the summer of 1974, and I was 12 years old. I remember I rode Great Uncle Clare’s bike over from my grandmother Florence’s home, way across town, to Grandma Thelma’s. I carefully parked the bike outside the back steps, opened the screechy screen door, and plopped my can of pop right down on the table….at least I thought I did that.
Instead, I heard my grandmother gasping and watched as her face wrenched up in horror. What did I do? Grandma quickly hobbled over to the table, her big green apron tied around her neck, her flat shoes dragging on the floor, while I watched a small black bobby pin suspiciously making its way out of the bun at the nape of her neck.
“Honey!” she exclaimed, “we never, ever set anything on the Word of God.” I looked down. Grandma had her Bible closed on the table, next to the baking soda and the open carton of eggs. It was a very special day, as my grandmother was crafting her exquisite “Sunshine Cake.” But while she baked, she enjoyed reading God’s Word. She said it was filled with the ingredients that needed to be stirred in her soul. But the day was not sunny now with my grandma’s stern words to me, and the frown on her furrowed brow.
She reached over and quickly grabbed my can of pop, and gently picked up the closed Bible, wiping it ever so tenderly with her apron. She placed it back down lovingly and grabbed my arm, pulling me gently into one of the old wire chairs that were pushed under the old grey laminate and silver edged table top. “Oh, my dear,” she began, [callout] “God’s Word is His Word. It comes from Him and Him alone. This is our connection with the Almighty. This is Him speaking to you…to me….and we honor it with everything we have. We do not set anything on it. It does not go under the bed, under the seat, or under anything. Instead, we love God, we love His Word and so we honor it, with our utmost highest respect.” [/callout] I never forgot it.
She gave me one of her tight grizzly hugs and a big kiss on my cheek and handed me the flour to start measuring.
I remember that beautiful summer afternoon frequently as I walk through the years of this life.
And so, this morning, as I was racing to pick up my bedroom and make the bed, I quickly grabbed a few loose books and placed them on the dresser. Something made me take a double-take….oh, yes…there it was…I had just set two books on top of my Bible. I smiled and said… “Okay, God…okay..Grams…sorry about that.”
[callout]Our Bibles….The Word of God….it’s from Him to us. Let’s lift our level of respect for Who God is….by respecting What He’s told us…..through His Word.[/callout]
“…the Word of God is planted and living in my heart…..” Hillsong