My father had a way with words.
One day, in a moment of tension and pain, those words planted a seed that would change my life forever.
It began after my husband, in a fit of rage, destroyed our wedding gifts—everything except one item: a beautiful family Bible.
Months later, desperate and afraid, I went to my father’s apartment. I knocked once and let myself in. He was sitting on the edge of his bed in the next room.
Once, a strong man who built homes, grew gardens, chopped firewood, and worked sixteen-hour shifts at the paper mill. He now looked frail in failing health, his body worn down by heart problems.
I sat beside him. He showed me a drawing of a headstone he had designed for himself, with a guitar etched into it—evidence of his lifelong love for music.
After a quiet moment, I asked if he would buy the Bible from me.
He looked at me and said,
“Linda, I can’t buy that Bible. It’s the only book that will save your life.”
What he didn’t understand was that if I returned home without money, I would face more abuse. I pleaded with him, but he refused.
His words felt like rejection in that moment.
And something inside me broke.
The last words I ever spoke to my father came from deep pain and anger.
“I remember what you did to me as a little girl,” I said. “I will never forget.”
My earliest memories of him were filled with fear—fear of being alone in his dark, smoke-filled bedroom. I remember crying to stay with my mother and waking up beside him, confused and ashamed.
That day, I walked out and slammed the door for good.
I never saw him again.
He died a few years later. I didn’t learn of his passing until much later in life.
But his words stayed with me.
“It’s the only book that will save your life.”
At the time, I didn’t understand. I thought he had abandoned me in my moment of need.
But years later, after fleeing for my life and ending up at a small city mission in Oakland, California, those words came back to me.
That night, I listened to a sermon before the evening meal.
And for the first time, I walked forward.
I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior.
In that moment, something changed. The weight I had carried for so long—the fear, the pain, the shame—began to lift. I experienced a peace I had never known before.
My father was right.
That Bible pointed me to the One who could truly save my life.
Jesus Christ.
Through God’s grace, I was able to forgive my father for everything.
Today, I understand that we are flawed. We all fall short. And we all need grace.
Looking back, I believe my father may have found that grace before he died. I believe he knew the truth—and in his own way, he tried to point me toward it.
He never received the headstone he had drawn. Instead, his grave rests beneath a large tree in the center of a quiet cemetery.
Our family carried pain for many years. So much of it might have been different if we had known what I know now earlier.
But even in brokenness, God works.
The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all. Psalm 34: 18 -19 KJV
This is a true story.
A story of pain, redemption, and the power of faith.
Because in the end, there really is only one book that can lead you to a life transformed.
And it begins with a step of faith
Is a reflective life writer and author of the upcoming memoir The Secret Darkness: Overcoming Abuse and Finding Freedom. Her writing explores healing, faith, creativity, and the journey of restoring scattered remnants into something beautiful again.
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