I once read a novel. This was an unusual feat for me because, when I read, I'm into non-fiction. But this book was different. Charles Frazier wrote it, his first-ever book. What made "Cold Mountain" amazing was that it won the National Book Award that year. Frazier's first time up to bat and he hits a grand slam. Amazing.

I was so impressed with the book, I thought my daughter would like it, so I mailed it to her. She read it and liked it. (I thought, "I'm a great gift-giver.") However, I didn't know that her love for the book would put me in an embarrassing position a year later.

When my birthday rolled around ten months later, her gift arrived in the mail, as usual. Being of that group of the human race that refuses to open a birthday until THE day, I waited, knowing that she had long enjoyed a reputation for giving just the always right, always perfect, and always proper gift. She spends hours to find just the "right" card, so the gift is always a great one.

When THE day came, I opened the gift to find that it was a copy of "Cold Mountain." I couldn't believe it! Who sends a book given to her as a birthday gift back to the giver? This was odd. She goes out and buys a book I read and gave to her, and she gives it to me.

All kinds of things raced through my mind. Since love gives the benefit of the doubt, I figured it out: she simply forgot that I'd given "Cold Mountain" to her months ago, and, thinking I'd like the Civil War novel, sent me a copy of it. When she calls, all I have to do is thank her for it, and express my appreciation for her thoughtfulness, even though, in reality, I was expressing my thanks for her forgetfulness.

The call came that day, as it always does. I must not have worn my persuasive shoes that day, because in my mumbled thank-you, she realized something was wrong. Then she asked, "Did you open the book?" I said, "No, I've already read it, months ago." She said, "I know you've read it; you sent it to me. It's the same book." I was then silently wondering, "Who sends the exact same book back to a person as a gift? What's going on?"

She asked me where the book was, and I said, "Downstairs." She said, "Go downstairs, get the book, and open it." I thought this was odd. I went and got the book and then opened it to the first page on which she'd written, "Dad-we'll always have our 'Cold Mountain.' Happy birthday. I love you. 21 Oct., 1998." That was nice.

I thanked her for the nice inscription, and then she said, "Now turn the page." I turned the page.

And there it was - a handwritten note: "To Mike and Heather, Charles Frazier." She had tracked down the author, talked to him in person and in living color, had him inscribe and autograph the book to me and her! Talk about a gift! Now, the book had meaning, now this book of all books, was to ME, from the author himself. Now the book is personalized. Now "Cold Mountain" will forever be different.

For too many people, the Bible is a cold mountain. As one person told me, "I thought that the Bible was a book of rules - "Don't," "Don't“, "Don't," with an occasional "Do." For many, the Bible is an unbending set of regulations - cold, harsh regulations piled Rocky Mountain high. They visualize God atop this Cold Mountain of rules, aloof, distant, always there with a "Don't," "Stay Back," "Keep Away."

They see Cold Mountain and they know they'll never be able to be good enough to climb it. Maybe they can get part way, but not to the top, not to God. It's so cold, so demanding, so impossible.

Then one day they hear the news. They read about Jesus "full of grace and full of truth" (John 1). They listen as Jesus says, "Come to me, all you who are heavy laden, and I'll give you rest." They read about all those people just like themselves who "heard Him gladly." They realize, "Here's Somebody I'd like to invite to my backyard so we could sit and talk and talk and maybe eat together. They realize that Jesus isn't about Cold Mountain rules, but about relationship.

They read how they don't have to climb Cold Mountain, and they breathe a sigh of relief. They read how Jesus kept all the rules and that they don't have to try to do what they never could (Romans 3:20, 28). They come to see that forgiveness of sin and eternal life come from faith alone in Christ alone. They see that the merit is all in Christ, neither in them and their "climbing," nor in the size of their faith. They see that there's no need to try to climb Cold Mountain to get to God because Jesus is "the way, the truth, and the life, and nobody comes to God except through Him” (John 14:6).

When they see that, everything changes.

I still have that copy of "Cold Mountain," always right there in my office. I have it because that book is different now, that book is to ME and for ME. It's personalized. That book changed on October 21, 1998.

What a great day it is when we come to see that the Bible isn't a book of rules from God on Cold Mountain, but a book personalized, for us, a book that's the Author's Word for us and to us. That it isn't a book of rules, it's a book of relationship, autographed to you, handwritten in the blood of the Author who died for you.

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