My Bible is falling apart. This burgundy, thinline, bonded leather New International Version Bible is more than 15 years old. Bonded leather is worthless in my opinion. Recently I considered replacing it with a genuine leather version that wouldn’t fall apart.
Searching my office bookcases for Bibles, I hunted for the one I had in mind. I found it. A burgundy, genuine leather, New American Standard Bible lay in my hands. But it’s thicker and heavier than my NIV and not the version I’m accustomed to.
I began to contemplate what it might take to repair my old NIV where a piece of the binding tore off; where worn edges, a bent cover, and loose pages reveal years of use; where smudged pen notations betray tearful reading sessions; and where the shiny gold edging, now dulled from handling, faintly glistens as I flip the pages. What would a Bible repairman have to do to fix my beloved but tattered Text?
As I considered more carefully the prospect of using a different Bible, I felt a hot tension squeeze my heart. What about all the markings I put in it? Carefully drawn underlines, dates indicating significant events in my life, notations made while listening to life-changing sermons. How would I replace those?
Tears trickled down my face as I recalled the moments that this worn NIV had provided comfort, strength, and encouragement. Gazing at it with tenderness, I gently picked it up and held it to my chest. This Bible is historical. It carries my life and breath and tears within its pages. I know exactly where to turn for every verse I seek.
This Bible is the one . . .
I use for every PWOC Bible study;
This Bible is the one . . .
I have carried to every church and chapel service in the last 15-plus years;
This Bible is the one . . .
My silly beagles lick when I’m sitting on the bed reading it;
This Bible is the one . . .
I reach for when I need a Psalm to calm my heart;
This Bible is the one . . .
I hold in my hands while sitting on the edge of the bed sobbing;
This Bible is the one . . .
I held open to Romans 12:1-2 while pacing the floor begging God to transform me;
And, this Bible is the one . . .
I read every day as I sit with the Lord eagerly anticipating a timely word of wisdom.
This Bible is my source of Truth, Light, and Life.
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Today I was struck by an image on the cover of the September 2010 issue of The Voice of the Martyrs. A young Christian woman named Somchi, from the communist nation Laos and the people group Khmu, holds a charred Bible in her hands. The Laotian villagers said the Bible was responsible for her mother’s illness, so they burned it along with other Christian literature they found. Fortunately, Somchi got a new Bible at the house church she attends.
After seeing the burned Bible, I thought of my precious, well-worn and well-loved thinline NIV. It has never been confiscated. It has never been shredded. It has never been burned. And, it doesn’t need to be replaced.
Here in America I don’t need to fear someone coming into my home to destroy the Word of God. At least, not now. So while I still have my religious freedom intact — and I hope that I do until I die or until Christ returns — I intend to cherish my ragged Bible with gratitude and remember God’s faithfulness as I read every page.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God . . . In Him was life, and that life was the light of men (John 1:1 and 4).
