Marysville man sends wayward Bibles home

Published 3:40 pm Thursday, June 5, 2008

Old Bibles, especially those holding fast to family memories, fascinate Barry Kinyon of Marysville.

Sometimes, in second-hand bookstores and thrift shops, one will reach out to him as if to say, “I’m lost, please send me home.”

A few weeks ago, on his way to church in Granite Falls, he and his wife stopped in at a small thrift store on U.S. 2. Among the used books was a King James edition about the size of a videocassette, with a name and a town on the flyleaf.

The centerfold listed more family names and dates. The writer’s script was small and had faded through the years because he’d used a pencil.

Barry bought it for $2 and mailed the Bible to me, one more stop on its journey home.

We did this once before, Barry and I.

About 15 years ago, he called me at The Herald after he’d picked up a Bible in an Everett thrift store. It also contained the family history of a Stanwood family.

Since I had lived in Stanwood for almost 30 years, he figured I might recognize the names. I did.

The Bible was given to the niece of the original owner, where it is still cherished.

When his latest package arrived earlier this month, I had to wonder why this Bible? Why now?

Inside I saw the inscription: Floyd J. Whitney, Stanwood.

When we moved to Stanwood in 1964, our first home was “the old Whitney place.” We never really used the street address in general conversation. We’d just say, “We’re in the old Whitney place in west Stanwood.” That was good enough for most folks in what was then a very small town.

We bought the two-story house, built before indoor plumbing, from Elmer and Augusta Whitney.

So, as I looked at the Bible, I had to wonder if there were a connection.

A search on the Internet produced the 1970 obituary of Floyd J. Whitney, Stanwood. His wife’s name, Victoria Robarge, was listed in the Bible, and the obituary. So were the children’s names, including Elmer.

I called Jeanne Ovenell in Stanwood, one of my first friends when I moved to town in 1964. I used to think she knew just about everybody in town.

She too recognized the Whitney name.and passed along another coincidence of note:

The funeral of Augusta Whitney, 82, was held at Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church in Stanwood on the same day, it turns out, that the Bible arrived in my mail.

Clearly, the Bible was homeward bound. I was just one of the stopovers en route.

Jeanne gave me the telephone number of a man her son has worked with, a cabinet-maker, last name Whitney. She was pretty sure that, among all the Whitneys in the telephone book, he was related to the Bible’s family.

And he was.

“Floyd Whitney’s my grandpa,” Steven Whitney said when I called him. “He moved in with us on our farm in Stanwood when I was a teenager. If you’d send it to me, I’ll make sure it gets to his daughter, Lorraine.

“That Bible might not mean much to anyone else, but it will mean a lot to us, ” he added.

I wrapped the Bible and included a copy of Barry’s message and sent it on.

Then I called Barry for a chat.

He’s returned many Bibles to families through the years. It’s just one of the good things he does. When he picked up the Whitney ‘s Bible that Sunday, he says, ” It was as if the Good Lord said, ‘You need to look at this.’”

I trust his word on that.

Through the years the people I’ve met and interviewed have offered, on occasion, wisdom that was particularly meaningful to me in that time and place.

When I met Barry 15 years ago, he gave me his take on “unfinished business.”

He’d recently lost a much-loved twin brother to a devastating illness. The brothers were in their early 40s and had been close much of their lives. But, like many siblings, they had their share of disagreements through he years.

Together, they talked and talked, prayed, asked for and gave forgiveness, said, “I love you,” many times and when the end came there was “no unfinished business,” Barry told me.

So many times in our lives we let anger linger and allow pride and ego to keep as from admitting a mistake. We forget to say. “I love you.” at the end of every conversation with our children or grandchildren. We don’t even say those important three words often enough to the one we love the most.

And so it goes. Unfinished business becomes dusty debris in the darkest corner of your life. Pretend it doesn’t exist, and it will only cause more pain as the years go by.

The Whitney Bible’s gift to me was an opportunity to chat again with the man who taught me an unforgettable life lesson.

I trust it has more gifts yet to give.

Linda Bryant Smith writes about life as a senior citizen and the issues that concern, annoy and often irritate the heck out of her now that she lives in a world where nothing is ever truly fixed but her income. You can e-mail her at ljbryantsmith@yahoo.com.