Her hand prints...

When I was homeschooling my kids full time, we did a wonderful Bible study from BJU called Bible Truths.  It was a great study that had us digging deep into the Word.

 

But here is a real “Bible Truth”.  I don’t read my Bible enough.  What I mean is I don’t pick up the Word and dive into it the way I should.  I have certain authors that I really love, Beth Moore, Francis Chan, and David Platt to name a few.  I love how they make me think, present the Word in a way I have never thought of, share truth even when it’s hard to hear, and push me to be less than comfortable in my own skin--- in a good way.  I read the verses recommended from devotionals, blogs, and these wonderful authors I read, but the truth is I’ve started to read more from these people than from the real Book.  I’ve become lazy in that I want it spoon fed to me by someone who has already figured it out.

I grew up watching my Grandmother Faith and Granddaddy read their Bibles daily.  They were born and raised Baptists.  They lived out their faith in the most authentic way I’ve ever seen.  They didn’t stand on street corners and shout to people that they were going to burn in a lake of fire.  They didn’t pound their fists on their Bible and exclaim the truths it held.  Instead, they showed their faith daily.  

They provided when there was need.  If someone needed food, they made it and delivered it.  If someone needed shelter, their home was open.  Everyone was welcome in their home and in their life.  They gave until it hurt and then some.  They lived Christianity.  They taught me what it meant to love God, others, and self.  I can’t imagine the hours my grandmother must have spent praying me through my teens.  Thank You, Jesus, that she did or I might not be here to type this.

Since I grew up so close to them and since my brother and I were their only grandchildren, we spent a lot of weekends at their home.  I remember waking up at their home on Saturdays more than at my own.  Brother and I both had our own rooms at their house!  My strongest childhood Saturday morning memories were waking up to the sound of the peculator bubbling, the good smell of coffee, bacon, and biscuits, and then hearing Granddaddy read the morning devotional and the Bible at the table.  I loved how he would get out his Bible, read from it, discuss it, and apply it.  It all made sense when he talked about it.  It was comforting, interesting, and exciting.  Exactly what the Bible should be.

I think the other thing I loved was that Grandmother Faith and Granddaddy lived out their faith seven days a week.  The Lord wasn’t a topic of discussion on Sundays.  He was a part of their lives, and He was always present.

One of my sweetest possessions is my Grandmother Faith’s Bible.  Right before she passed away, she gave me her Bible and told me that she wanted my sweet husband to read the ‘love’ chapter at her graveside.  (1 Corinthians 13) It was one of her favorites.  I gave the Bible to Chance, and he read the passage just as she had requested.  Then he gave the Bible back to me.  I took it home but couldn’t really look at it at first.  It was too much a part of her.  Grandmother always had her Bible near her.  I saw her read it often.  She wasn’t reading the latest new author in the Christian writing scene, but she was reading her favorite author… God. 

A few weeks after she had passed away, I picked up her Bible and noticed something for the first time in my life.  Her hand prints were on her Bible.  She had held that Bible so often, so close, that her hand prints were worn on the cover.  I picked up that sweet Book, and put my hands on her hand prints.  I felt like I was holding hands with her again, and it felt wonderful.  I missed her so much and here was her sweetest legacy to me sitting in my lap.

As I opened the pages of her Bible, I was hoping to find underlined passages and words written on the side.  Grandmother was not a highlighter or a writer. What I found instead were worn pages, thin from constant use. She had tucked lots of little pieces of paper into her Bible-- a clipping from a bulletin with a meaningful saying, a prayer that had been written down, a list of verses for the bereaved.  Some things looked very old.  Some things were new.  Had she tucked them in knowing I would find them?  Were they little notes and messages for me?  Was this her way of continuing to pass her precious wisdom on to me after she had left this earth?

So I think to myself, 'How’s my Bible doing?'  Is it getting worn from constant use?  Are my hand prints worn on the cover?  I love Grandmother Faith’s Bible.  I love her.  But most of all, I love my Savior.  And now I’m realizing I need to get back to the basics of letting Him speak to me.  I can do it best by returning to His word and letting Him speak to me through that Living Bible.  It was written just for me (and just for you.)  And it is enough.   

So today I am praying my children will one day hold my worn Bible in their hands as a testimony of my love for the Lord and His good Word.  Thinking about this today…