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.