For most of those years I never questioned what was in it. Sixty-six books, Genesis through Revelation, the same canon my mother read and her mother before her. It never occurred to me that there might be more.
Then, about eighteen months ago, something changed. Someone at women's group mentioned the Book of Enoch. I had never heard of it. I went home that evening, sat at my kitchen table, and started looking it up on my phone. One link led to another. By midnight I had read things I could not believe had been sitting just outside my Bible my entire life.
There was a whole tradition I had never been told about. An older, larger collection of scripture, preserved by the Ethiopian Orthodox Church in an unbroken line since the fourth century, containing more than twenty books that my own Bible did not.
Not commentaries. Not footnotes. Books. Ancient, scriptural books that the early church read and that the writers of the New Testament quoted directly.
I wanted to read them. All of them. The way they were meant to be read.
What I did not know was that this would turn into a year-long search, and that the hardest part would not be understanding the texts — it would be finding an edition I could actually trust.