This is my Bible.
It has obviously seen a lot of wear and tear.
I got it in 2001 from my youth minster.
I had finished reading all of it within a year.
See in the upper right-hand corner? That’s my misspelled name being corrected with an “x” through the superfluous “h”.
Psalm 37: 5-6 reads:
Commit your ways to the Lord;
trust in him and he will do this:
He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn,
the justice of your cause like the noonday sun.
A good deal of it is marked up like this. Competing highlighter colors. Passages blocked off with pencil. Underlining, exclamation points, and arrows in pen. Copious notes and prayers written in every available space.
Almost the entire book of Phillipians is highlighted. The same goes for James and 1 John.
For me the Word was God.
The Word was Light and it was Life.
My Bible, and every dear word in it, informed how I understood God. It was the basis on which I built my relationship with God.
My Bible was almost totemic.
When the doubts started seeping through the cracks in my faith, I took my troubles to my Bible.
“Is God good?”
“Is God, at all?”
Without faith, being devoured by the lion as it were, my Bible has become a weird brick of a book.
I value it dearly, still, but I value it as I do my childhood security blanket; loving it without needing it, loving it as an act of respect to my past.
It’s weird to look back and see how many layers of importance I used to see in a text that is flat to me now.