Lately, I’ve been looking a lot at the little white Bible that Bishop Donovan signed to Alex and me. That was nice. When I hold it and I try to remember him all I see is an exuberant smile upon a kind brown face with the age of work and care pouring out in reflection of a most beautiful banquet. I see many colors in a long robe. I see a suit underneath it and carefully, reverently shined black shoes. I see only the best in a man whose face I don’t really remember! It makes me so sad…like I’m reaching for something that I can never see again. Bishop Donovan. Who is he? Yet I have his handwriting in my Bible…the one he signed to both of us and then dedicated especially to Alex. I remember, he was the best man at my wedding and yet it is all a blur. I don’t know who he is.
The Holy Bible and his handwriting in it reminds me of the warmth of brotherhood that I used to feel from the Baptist Ministers and church Pastors that surrounded True Father when he was alive. The warmth of the ministry and the glory of heaven was upon us. Those memories are alive upon God’s book.