By way of the King James Version, my grandparents and parents came to Christ. It was using the KJV that my grandmother taught my grandfather to read. He was ever a man of a single book, never managing to read the daily newspaper, but he memorized the KJV New Testament.
I cut my spiritual teeth on the KJV. From it I memorized scriptures and won a Bible at church. From it I came to know God and enter his kingdom.
Though I long ago left off using the KJV, its cadences still influence my speech. When I do an English Bible search, its phraseology still bubbles to the surface.
In 1980, while preaching in Shiloh, Tenn., I gave my childhood KJV Bible to an effort that was sending Bibles to Africa. I hope some faithful African brother is making good use of it, for I have since regretted letting it go. I’m a sentimentalist, and a bit of guilt at hanging on to it, with so many Bibles in my possession, caused me to give it up. That twinge of guilt was a good thing, since I’d probably be carting it around until today if I hadn’t.