This blog post originally was published on the SGBC Blog on May 13, 2014.
I like my Bible. Not just the Bible in general, but my personal Bible. I think it suits me. It’s hardback brown leather and green floral. It’s full of underlines and notes. There’s a little scribble in a place or two courtesy of my three-year-old. It’s a nice manageable size. About an inch thick. 1,042 pages long.
It sits next to a cup of coffee on my kitchen table this morning, open right now to Hosea 11. Page 758. There’s a notecard sticking out at page 812, marking a place where I hope I get to spend some time before the rest of my house wakes up.
God, whose knowledge is unsearchable and infinite, gave me 1,042 pages.
I am so struck lately by the miracle of my Bible. I own a copy of the very words of my Creator! I get to hold in my lap all that the world needs to know! God has chosen to reveal Himself and the work of His Son in a book that fits in my purse.
I keep thinking about a story my sister, Lizzy, told me. When she was almost finished with her training with the International Mission Board and about to leave for Africa, all of the missionaries were given a copy of the Bible in the language of the people group they would be working with. She talked about holding that copy of the New Testament in her lap for the first time, overcome with unexpected emotion. There was nothing fancy about it, but she knew that that little green book contained the words of life in Fulfulde. It was their only hope.
The Word of God is my only hope too. And I want to know it! The miracle is that I get to know it! All 1,042 pages.