In case you missed it, I’ve been spending a good bit of my free time lately prepping for our Women’s Bible study that starts in a couple of weeks. I love teaching the Bible to other thirsty women. Several years ago I wrote a post that describes some of the emotion that wells up in me when we study the Bible together. Here’s a reprint from the old blog’s archives.
You know that prickly sensation when you’re in anticipation of something? I like to think of reading the Bible like that.
Sort of like we might feel if we didn’t have instant messaging or tweeting or email or even phone service. And we had to wait for letters to come great distances to hear from the ones we loved. I imagine it like the early immigrants to America might have felt. Maybe a letter has just arrived from our Grandad who still lives in the Old Country. How we all grab for it and want to read it first. Instead we gather around in the fire – brothers, sisters, cousins, all of us together. And one of us reads it out loud. And maybe his Scottish brogue comes through thick in his writing and Mom has to explain this or that because our own memories of “home” have grown dim. We didn’t really mean to forget. Not really. But, truth be told, it’s hard to remember what he looks like anymore or the way his hug feels after a walk in the meadow. And the littlest among us barely knew him at all before we left.
But when Momma reads we remember. We hang on every word. And I get goosebumps as I listen to words penned by his precious hand. A bit of him. Here. With us now.
That’s how I feel about getting to open my Bible and pour over its Words. It’s an imperfect analogy, I know. But, it gets at the heart of it for me. Sometimes we open the letter together, all gathered around the Book while someone reads it aloud. But, I’ve also got to acknowledge that the letter is for me alone also. It’s God’s communication to ME.
For, I did receive a letter from a great distance. Only it’s not from Grandad. Naw – it’s even better. This letter is from the very One who called the stars out by name and told the proud ocean waves where to stop. And knew me while I was still being knit together in my mother’s womb. The One whose mercies are new every morning. He who heaps grace on me – grace upon grace. He has spoken. Written down all the things He wanted me to know for this life. Fantastic accounts of love spurned and the relentless pursuit of a Suitor. A picture of the cheater wooed back. Of a love that wins and a future hope that awaits me.
A letter like that shouldn’t be sitting pristine on a shelf. Friends, do you know that men died so that we could get this letter? And read it in our own language? This is a letter that deserves to be poured over. Read again and again. Slowly, savoring every word. Pages worn thin from getting it out over and over again.
I know I need the letter. Oh how I need it. Because, I’ll be honest, sometimes I forget. I forget what He’s like and how His story has become my history. Let’s face it, there are lots of other voices competing with the letter. Trying to keep me from it. Some even mock the letter. “How do you even know it’s from Him? What if it’s a fake? Or been altered by the deliveryman?”
But I know better. Aside from apologetic proof upon proof, there is the reality that His fingerprints are all over His correspondence. His heart beating with the very idea of something so impossible as grace. There’s nothing like it in all the wide world. No ancient text from any other religion that quite reads like this one. I both need and WANT to hear what He has to say. To be reminded afresh.
I know, right? You felt it too. Goosebumps. So what are you waiting for? Go get your letter and soak in the words from the heart of your Suitor. Go find out for yourself what it is that makes Him so worthy of your affection.
