My Bible...

I love my Bible. It is my most prized possession, and in the event of an emergency, it would be one of the first things that I would grab besides my family photos. It has been my good friend (maybe, that’s why some call it the good book) and my constant companion since 1975. It has faithfully carried me through all of my ups and downs for almost 35 years. Yes, there are thousands of other editions, publishers, versions, and translations, but the sentiment that tugs at my heartstrings for this book is almost too much to bear.

A King James Version clad in chocolate brown cowhide, I purchased it brand new in the tiny local Bible supply shop. It was a simple model, and compact. I ran my fingers over the beautifully embossed gold lettering that adorned the cover. I slowly opened it; each page was trimmed on the outside edge with a thin sliver of gold. I leaned my face into it and breathed it in; the smell of new leather, and fresh paper was a comfort in itself. I slowly closed it, and the edges of those pages gleamed bright.

The tiny lady that ran the store came shuffling by. “You know, that is a red-letter edition. That means that all of the words of Jesus are typed in red ink.” She shuffled away, and I guessed that it was to take care of other important bookstore stuff. I hadn’t given it much thought before, but if the letters were red, and she had made a point of bringing that to my attention, then it must be the one for me!

She rang me up, and handed me the receipt. I left the shop with a new spring in my step. I am the proud new owner of a red-letter edition! Little did I know, but would soon find out, that I was not the owner of the small brown book. The small brown book was the new owner of me.

In the beginning, that little companion proved quite a challenge. There were places on those pages that I’d never seen on a map, there were people in there that I’d never met, and there were events chronicled that were – I don’t know – miraculous? What a weird little book. And, the Old English? Hey! I didn’t sign up for Shakespeare!

But, “slow and sure” finally won the race. I plodded along, and soon enough, miniscule bits gave way to tiny verses; small passages unfolded into amazing chapters. And, the Old English? I was embraced by its lyrical lilt, and its stunning poetry! Before long, I found myself rushing each day just to see what nugget of wisdom lay in wait.

There seemed to be a verse or a chapter, a person or a circumstance, a book or a revelation that fit every single situation that I found myself in. And, the book spoke to me with more clarity and surgical precision than any friend of mine.

That book, that companion, walked me through the long cold corridors of the hospital where my four-year old daughter lay under the neurosurgeon’s knife after an accident at pre-school. That leather-bound friend talked me into extending mercy to the man that I was married to when I found him in the bed of another woman and I wanted to kill them both. That lover of my soul spoke faith into my heart and gave me the courage to marry again, and to dare to live happily-ever-after with the man of my dreams. That counselor, that guide, was a bright lamp unto my feet as I walked through the dark valley of the shadow of death, when my cancer-ridden dad and my tweaker brother ended up taking their own lives.

That small book has proved to be a living breathing being in my life. It has cried out against impending danger, it has shouted encouragement when I wanted to give up, it has comforted me through the fearful night, and it has whispered strength to my weary soul.

It is shabby now. The chocolate brown leather is worn smooth; the edges of the cover are cracked and torn. The bright pages have been stripped of their delicate gold; the acid from my fingers have eaten away at each page. I still lean my face into it, and breathe deep the life that is buried there. It is my friend, my companion, my dearest possession. I love my Bible.

My Favorite Place...

There is a historic landmark safely snuggled in the Silver Valley of Cataldo, Idaho. The rustic cream-colored Mission of the Sacred Heart is situated on a grassy knoll, flanked on the south by the Coeur d’Alene River. Aspen, maple, and cottonwood stand sentinel over those that find rest there – both past and present. I love the startling solitude and can’t begin to number the times that I have pulled off the I-90 just for the opportunity of breathing life there.

I have stopped to possess the gradient coral of the morning broken by great shafts of sterling light; I have stopped to swallow the indigo of midnight pierced through with pinpoints of silver; I have stopped to roll in the glorious silken sheets of the Aurora Borealis.

I have stopped there to partake of the fragrant bloom in spring, the lazy buzz of summer, the fluttering zephyr of fall, and the stark delicacy of winter. I have grieved there, rejoiced there, stormed there, and danced there.

It has been a refuge for me; it has been the place to meet me, and a place to meet God. I have asked my husband to fling my ashes to the wind there, to be consumed by the cycle life and death that abides there. It is one of my favorite spots to quietly live and breathe and have my being.

Perception!

Perception! To be or not to be? That is the question! Several years ago, my husband and I received a Hastings gift card for Christmas. Movie buffs to the core, we couldn’t wait to spend our loot and bring home the perfect DVD. We rushed over to Hastings and browsed every new title in the store.

Exasperated with their overpriced merchandise, we decided to search the previously-viewed DVDs instead. Eureka! We hit the jackpot and were ecstatic. Little red and white signs were placed neatly above each row of flicks and read $2.50 each. We scurried up and down the aisles, filling our arms to the full, as we pulled movie after movie after movie off of the shelves. We had died, and gone to cinema heaven!

We carefully balanced our heaps, as we threaded our way to the register. Passing by one of those little red and white signs that read $2.50 each, I decided to take one last look. Yep, it was the exact price! Well, that is, for anyone who wanted to “rent” one of those fine films for the evening. Objectivity would have told us that there was no such thing as a free lunch, and that if it sounded too good to be true, then it probably was.

Yep… perception is in the eye of the beholder.