A few years after my father's death, I was called to Wisconsin to retrieve family belongings and help clean out his house. It was a long two day drive from Florida. My husband and I were surprised by the early season snow blowing across barren cornfields as we drove north. The bitter cold stung our faces as we unlocked the door to the familiar, but now silent house.

Hopes of warmer weather proved futile. The next morning, bundled in the few winter clothes I still owned, I began my work in the windowless attic. Hanging from the rafters, a single light bulb cast a pale light over the accumulation of many years. I threaded my way through the dishes, clothes, Christmas decorations and books: a lifetime of possessions bringing back so many memories.

Box after box I hauled downstairs, clearing a path through the narrow attic. Eventually I reached the back wall. Crouching under the eaves, I spotted a small, old cardboard box labeled in my father's handwriting: "Valuable Old Books." I brushed the cobwebs off with my mitten and peered inside. Here was my grandmother's German Bible dated 1916, my father's New Testament and hymnal he carried through the Pacific in WWII, and a small child's book of prayers.

A tiny calling card clipped inside read: "To Lois, A Birthday Remembrance," a gift from her Sunday School teacher. My father's twin sister, Lois, had died from pneumonia at the age of three in 1927. This was her only possession to have survived these many years, a "valuable old book" indeed! I sat there turning the brittle pages, blessed as I read these tender prayers.



"Whate'er I do, things great or small,
Whate'er I speak or frame,
Thy glory may I seek in all,
Do all in Jesus' Name."
~ ~ ~
"Lamb of God, I look to Thee;
Thou shalt my example be;
Thou art gentle, meek, and mild,
Thou wast once a little child."

The prayers were inspiring; the lovely artwork depicting children and families at prayer was heartwarming. I thought of the Sunday School teacher who, more than 75 years ago had taught and cared for the children in her class and had given little Lois this precious book for her birthday. Who knows the impact that teacher had in Lois' short life.

I tucked the book back into the box and finished my work in the attic. For the rest of the week I sorted and packed. My husband rented a trailer for all the family treasures we would take back to Florida. Finally, we closed the door to my father's house one last time and drove through the snow on our way back home.

For several years the little book sat on a shelf with my grandma's Bible and old family photos. Then the hurricanes of 2004 struck Florida! We evacuated twice and could only take what was truly valuable or irreplaceable. Once again, I packed the little book into our pick-up truck and we drove north.

We were grateful to return home five days later to find only minor damage. When hurricane season finally ended, I unpacked and put our belongings back in place. I sat leafing through the little book of prayers, still captivated by the serenity and beauty of the artwork and simplicity of faith expressed in the prayers.

I knew I held a jewel, a treasured possession preserved first by my grandmother who had lost her only daughter, and then kept by my father for decades until I found it. This book that had so blessed me and my family would, I know, bless many others. It deserved more than to be a forgotten, out-of-print book.

My husband and I prayed and decided to reprint the book, making it available to a whole new generation. We added a journal section for children and parents to write in their own prayers and record their spiritual journey, to leave a spiritual legacy for your own family and generations yet to come. We pray it will bless your family as it has mine.

 Yours in Him,


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