Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

The Hymnbook

By Arthur Bowler

I watched intently as my little brother was caught in the act. He sat

in

the corner of the living room, a pen in one hand and my father's hymnbook in

the

other. As my father walked into the room, my brother cowered slightly; he

sensed that he had done something wrong. From a distance, I saw that he had

opened my father's brand-new book and scribbled across the length and

breadth of

the entire first page with a pen. Now, staring at my father fearfully, he

and I

both waited for his punishment.

My father picked up his prized hymnal, looked at it carefully, and then

sat

down without saying a word. Books were precious to him; he was a clergyman

and

the holder of several degrees. For him, books were knowledge, and yet, he

loved

his children. What he did in the next few minutes was remarkable. Instead

of

punishing my brother, instead of scolding or yelling or reprimanding, he sat

down, took the pen from my brother's hand and then wrote in the book

himself,

alongside the scribbles had made: " 's word 1959, age two. How many

times have I looked into your beautiful face and into your warm, alert eyes

looking up at me and thanked God for the one who has now scribbled in my new

hymnal? You have made the book sacred as have your brothers and sister to

so

much of my life. " Wow, I thought. This is punishment?

From time to time I take a book down - not just a cheesy paperback but

a

real book that I know I will have for many years to come - and I give it to

one

of my children to scribble or write their names in. And as I look at their

artwork, I think about my father, and how he taught me about what really

matters

in life: people, not objects; tolerance, not judgment; love which is at the

very

heart of a family. I think about these things, and I smile. And I whisper,

" Thank you, Dad. "