I love reading the Message. I’m not always a fan of some of the idioms Peterson uses, but appreciate how he helps communicate the very down to earth message of God coming to be with his people and creation in Jesus. (I also enjoy Peterson’s other writings.)

I discovered something tonight. Somehow, I started reading the Message and imagining Peterson (in a way pretending him to be my grandfather) to be the one reciting the words I’m reading as we sit in front of a campfire. He vibrantly tells the story and sometimes uses a strange idiom that my generation has forgotten or found a different way to say. But that’s not important. What I see is a passionate man in front of me telling me a story he has completely memorized. Not memorized like we memorized Bible verses in archaic or rote English, but memorized as in he retains the same passion for the story he’s telling that the first people has when they told it.

I sit in awe, listening… I wait for the next turn in the story and wonder, as each memory from Grandfather Peterson unfolds in front of me. The expressions on his face almost tell more of the story than the words he uses.