To tell the truth, I don’t remember seeing Mom actually read her old Bible. As far as I could tell, it just sat on the nightstand (床头桌) next to her bed. And that was the best place for it, since it probably wouldn’t have survived any meaningful use anywhere else. The black cloth cover was ragged and time-worn, and its dog-eared pages yellowed. Once I accidentally knocked it off the nightstand, launching loose pages all over Mom’s and Dad’s bedroom. I expected a tongue-lashing for my carelessness, but Mom was so busy gathering the pages, gently smoothing them and returning them to their place in the book that she paid no attention to me.
Soon after I moved away from home, my sister Kathy and I bought a new Bible for Mom for her birthday. It was a black leather volume, twice as big as her old Bible. The pages were trimmed in gold, and there were maps, references and a complete Bible dictionary included within its pages. We even had her name engraved on the front with gold-leaf lettering. It was a beautiful book and Mom was touched and pleased. I remember watching her thumb carefully through the pages, admiring the quality of the paper and the clarity of the printing. From that day on, that Bible was the one she took with her to church and the one from which she read during the family Nativity Pageant (圣诞庆典). But for some reason, it never displaced the old Bible from its place for honor on her nightstand. And that bothered me a little.
“I don’t know why you keep that ratty old thing,” I told her as we prepared to pack it among her most precious belongings for what would turn out to be the last of many relocations in her life—this time to warm Southern California. “That new Bible we got for you is the best that money can buy. You can’t even use this old one anymore.”
Mom smiled at me weakly and sat on the edge of her bed, carefully rapping the old Bible in an equally old, equally shabby white cloth.
“Just because a thing isn’t useful anymore, that doesn’t mean it isn’t valuable,” she said softly and deliberately. “You look at this and see an old, worn-out book. However, I see the gift your father gave me on our wedding day. I see the friend that was always there to provide me with strength and comfort when your father served at the front. I see the storybook from which I read stories to all of my children, and the book from which you all read your first Bible poems”.
“This Bible has been in the family as long as we’ve been a family.” She continued, caressing (爱抚) it through the shabby white cloth. “Even though it isn’t especially useful anymore, there is still value in what it represents. At least, there is to me.”
Suddenly it occurred to me that she wasn’t just talking about the old Bible. We live in an age of fanatically obsessive utilitarianism (效用主义), Everything is disposable (用完即可丢弃的). If it’s old or odd-looking or not particularly useful, we toss it out. We forget that there is value beyond utility，and worth beyond “what’s in it for me right now.”
When Mom passed away, Dad gave me her “new” Bible. It’s among my most cherished possessions. It’s the Bible I read and take to church. It means a lot to me, and it’s really beautiful and incredibly useful. But I would trade it in a minute for Mom’s old useless Bible. I even have the perfect place for it: on the nightstand next to my bed.