It's all about books again.
One of my favorite and most cherished blessings, looking backward to childhood, was a mother that read to us.
Mother's plan was, it seems, to offer us the excellent while providing the good. The rest we would discover for ourselves in our own time.
Scripture was first. King James, of course. It was through that I learned to read. Twice a day after meals, a chapter would be read, each person at the table reading two verses in turn. Mother would guide her finger under the sentences being read. As I began to recognize words I would be permitted to read them aloud. First the articles, the conjunctions and finally the words that moved the narrative.
To this day I thank all those patient, older folk around that table allowing a small child such experience.
Then there was Pilgrim's Progress. Again, original, nothing simplified or diluted here. I well remember evening hours by the fireplace, listening as mama read to Brother Dearest and myself. We weren't always the most attentive audience. We sometimes giggled at the character names and invented our own silly nicknames. What I do not remember is being scolded for this nonsense. Much to my mother's credit.
There were the heroic missionary accounts such as those of John Paton, Henry Martyn, Hudson Taylor and Mary Slessor. I wonder how many of today's generation even know these names?
Among the books provided, were the Frank Baum Oz books which frankly frightened me by their seemingly scary illustrations. Haven't read these to this day. Don't even like the movie.
The twin books of Lucy Fitch Perkins, now, these were among my favorites. I wish I could remember more titles. I do know they would most likely not be among those familiar to today's readers.
What I do remember is the loving prompting by deed, by example, to makes books an integral part of life's journey.
To this day I still thrill to missionary accounts.
And I can still see in my mind's eye the illustrations in the various twins books.
It is delightful to remember....