I have used the same type Bible for about about ten years. My father was cleaning out some books from the many he’s collected over a lifetime and gave me a John MacArthur Study Bible.
I used it for a long time until it began to fall apart. The hard backed cover had worked itself loose from the spine. There were pages that had separated from the stitching and had been stuffed back in. There was writing on many pages, along with highlighting. There were scraps of paper with notes, makeshift bookmarks, and colored pictures from my children and those from church. Many of the pages, especially in Psalms, were warped from dried tears. I cherished the Bible that had become a familiar friend during a time when nothing at all in my life seemed familiar.
I remember well resting my head on it as I wept during the early months when my then husband left. When a friend advised I read Psalms, I followed her prescription like a person desperate for hope and healing. I read, recited and would sometimes fall asleep with the pages of Psalms bringing me such comfort and reminding me that God was so near.
Just when that Bible was almost beyond repair, God sent me a new one. You see, John MacArthur was issuing an anniversary edition and sending a free one away to everyone on his mailing list then. The timing of that Bible was just one of many little miracles God performed on my behalf over those early years and beyond.
Today, this new Bible isn’t so new anymore. It’s black and white pages are becoming pink, orange, and purple as my highlighters glide across it’s pages. There are sermon notes up and down the margins. There are scraps of paper tucked inside to help me find my place during the Wednesday night Bible Studies I lead. There’s a postcard from a missionary friend and the bulletin from church.
No doubt this Bible will serve me well until it’s pages become frail and the cover begins to fail it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. And you know, I don’t think God would either. He loves that I am using it; that it’s becoming personalized. Like manna from above that can’t be stored up for fear there’ll be no more, I know that I can count on a new one – when that eventual tomorrow comes and I need it.
Kathy