God Stole My Bible!

Of course I cannot prove it, but I'm pretty sure God stole my Bible. It was there one minute, like a faithful, life-long friend, and then it was gone, never to be seen nor heard from again. This post is about what went down that Sunday morning and why I think the Creator of the Universe created a little havoc, cooked up just for me.

In the last post I wrote a little about my life with the Bible -- how important it was in my childhood and how confusing it became to me as a young adult. Well, it wasn't the Bible that was really confusing, it was the over-all application of it, or the lack-there-of, in the world around me. I estimate I read the entire Bible around two dozen times from the day I received it after my 10-yr-old baptism to the time it mysteriously went missing. I was age 31 then. So I had this very same Bible for 21 years! After 16 years it was falling apart; pages marked up and highlighted; edges torn and worn out; and the glue holding the whole thing together was dropping chunks of pages like a gambler drops coins in a slot machine.

I had it rebound during my years in Seminary. I took advantage of the opportunity and asked the book binders to add in extra note pages in the back and five ribbons for marking my place. And of course I sprang for the very best leather. I'll never forget picking it up that day from H.V. Chapman and Sons, in Abilene, TX. I was as a proud of my rescued Bible as would be an award-winning dog owner picking up his once-almost-dead but now-completely-healed dog from the Vet. 'This was symbolic,' I thought to myself. 'This is the beginning a new spiritual season in my life.  I'll take all my confusion over how Jesus says we should live vs. the way I see most of us Christians actually living in America, and just wash it away with a new look at these very old words.'      Fast forward 3 years and I was more of a wreck than ever.

I had recently decided to step out and take a job at a real live community church. I say step out because this was to be a pretty progressive congregation, leading the city in cell groups and worship teams. I was to be the part-time worship leader and youth minister. The other part-of-the-time I was to finish a Masters of Divinity in Bible at Harding Grad School of Religion, and perhaps go on to get my Doctorate in Theology. So I was set. So I thought. Honestly there was so much residue of unanswered questions floating around in my heart that I often tossed and turned at night, like a feverish child having nightmares of visions of things which weren't real. Finally, it got so bad I decided to drop out of grad school (another whole story) and resign from the community church. I just knew God was leading me a different direction but didn't know where or how. And it was very, very painful. But things weren't all bad. That next year I  married April. And I still had my trusty side-kick NIV! I still carried my Bible under arm in hopes that somewhere I would find what I was looking for in those pages. That's when (I think) God decided to relieve me of it.

It wasn't so much as under my arm as it was up on my truck. Here's what happened. April and I were newlyweds, living in an apartment complex in Memphis; only one child. (Imagine that.) That morning we were in a hurry to get to church, running late. We rushed downstairs to the old Pathfinder truck, April with a diaper bag and purse, me with newborn Nathan in one hand and my precious book in the other. Open door behind driver's side. April opened her door. I place Bible on top of truck, then place baby in the car seat (at least I got that part right). We both get in and close doors. We drive away. We pull out of the complex (our apartment was near the exit); we turn right. We drive for about 45 seconds before a sudden flush of blood hits my brain and I yell, "MY BIBLE!!!"

Fortunately I didn't cause a wreck; spun around in a side street and raced back to the only turn we had made. Place vehicle in park. Turn on hazards. Jump out. Search up and down the road -- while quickly doing physics calculations of weight, force and momentum in my head, thereby determining that when it slid off the roof it would certainly have landed..... right here! "But where is it?" There wasn't enough time for anyone to pick it up. "There was no-one behind us. Ok, Ok. I could be wrong." Go back and trace the short distance from the Apartment. Nothing. "What in the world!?!" I shout. "Where could it be!?" Ok, trace it a again; then a time again. Then panic and start searching the places where it certainly couldn't have landed or slid, way off the road. You know how it is when you've lost something you really love! You kinda go crazy for a minute. That's me.  I even took April and the little-red head on to church and came back and searched another hour, up and down. But nothing. Ironic: All around me in the city were thousands upon thousands of people in church services everywhere and I'm out in a ditch by the road looking for an old Bible. It was very quiet that morning. And I felt God's presence.

I finally gave up and drove back to church, utterly defeated and depressed. I mumbled the songs and fake-smiled at my friends. All the time I was trying to figure out how it just disappeared. 'Been with me for two thirds of my life and now just ... just ... gone,' I thought. April tried to console me I'm sure. But I don't remember too well due to the post-traumatic stress! On the way home I sat in stunned silence most of the way -- sort of having a (spiritual) life flash before my eyes moment -- until finally I managed to mutter to my wife the following words: "I think God stole my Bible." To which she replied, "Excuse me?" Long pause..."Yes, yes," I whispered. "God stole it....but why?"

It's taken me another ten years to finally offer a guess as to why God would steal (if He really did - I don't want to falsely accuse - especially when I can't prove it) my Bible. And that is the topic of the next post.


To Be Continued....


Side note: A few nights ago my 4 yr-old Ellie saw me reading my Bible and asked, "Daddy, whatcha reading?" To which I quickly responded, "My Bible, honey." "What does it say?" she asked. I thought for a second. "It says that God loves us,"  I replied.  Then she just leaned forward and gave me a kiss. Nothing else said. Just a kiss.  Perhaps it is just that simple. 



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