Retiring

It's been years. Ten to be more precise. For ten years this book has been my best friend. It has crossed oceans with me, tucked safely inside my colorful, childish carry-on. Its words have shimmered in the afternoon sun as I have pondered and thought and wrote and napped in the heat of the summer. It has sat buried under covers and pillows and blankets on Saturday mornings. It has rested on the glossy pews of church, and the scribbled-on tables in the Sunday school rooms. It has journeyed across the country with me... through the dust of the West and the cozy inns. It found its home on the shelf next to my brother's and my mom's. It has taken me through middle school drama, high school growth, and college renewal. This book has taken me through ten years of immense growth: from the simple understanding of a child, to the ever-increasing wisdom of a perpetual student... and still I have not reached the vast depths of its truths.

The pages are barely bound together. In fact, the last fifty have to be carefully tucked between the covers. They are crinkled... from the lotion before bed, the wet hands after morning dishes, the summer dew, and heavy, fast-falling tears. Nearly every page is marked: purple gel pen, smooth "grown-up" pens, scrawlings of mechanical pencil in the margins. And tears. Each page is treasured. Each page has a meaning... my favorite passages are etched in my mind.... Proverbs 4:23... blue pen. big tear drop blotting the blue pen and chasing it into the neighboring pages. Psalm 73. Colossians. Isaiah 43. Romans 8. Two flips and I'm there. I know which side to look for, I know what color. I know what I wrote in the margins. I know the dates that mark particularly painful times... and I know the passages that have wrapped their arms around me and whispered truth to me then. From the age of childhood lisps, I memorized in this version... these words are not just on the pages of this dear book... they are written in my heart.

But it is time for retirement. It has served me well. I have cherished it. I have grown from it. I have loved it... tracing my fingers over the precious, comforting, life-giving words.

The new one doesn't smell like me. Its pages crinkle when I open it... but not because of dew, tears, water, or lotion. It smells like a book store. The cover is immaculate, the pages are intact. There is no underlining or highlighting... no dates scrawled in between. It's a different "version" and the words are not nearly so familiar. I stare at it... read it... put it down... pick up my old friend... read....put it down, and try to become friends with this new one. Perhaps some tears, some underlining, some folded pages would help it feel like my own. I know that one day we will become friends... I know it will take effort. Time.

The best part, though, is that it isn't new content. It's the same. The same stories, the same encouragement, the same warnings, the same TRUTH. And though it looks different, and though it's not covered in my underlining, the same truth is there. I can now look at it in a new light, new wording, and a fresh excitement.

I have so much more to learn. Here is Truth waiting to be discovered.
This little brown leather Bible... Guiding me perhaps through the next ten years of life? Graduation, teaching, marriage, kids? Despite all the uncertainty, it is most certainly a comforting thought.