My first big girl Bible was a pale pink Precious Moments NIV softcover. I'm pretty sure I drew ballerinas on the inside cover and doodled my name and a few verses in colorful marker. I faithfully studied my memory verses for Sunday school. I could sing all sixty-six books to a catchy tune by age three, I'm told.
As a tween (we didn't have that word yet then, but still), my parents gave me a thick, brown leather Spirit Filled Life Bible. That was my Bible all through high school. I carried it to school, camp, conventions, and church. I wrote enthusiastic, sincere notes in the margins, followed by exclamation points. I highlighted favorite passages, and then underlined them when I came across them again. (The highest grade I ever received for a college course was a 98, for The Bible as Literature. I attribute that to my time of intense study as a teenager.) By the time my senior year of high school was coming to a close, the spine of this Bible was broken and chunks of pages would fall out easily.
Next came a navy blue slimline New King James Version, given to me upon my high school graduation by my pastors on May 20, 2001, with the inscription may the Lord bless you and keep you scrawled in the front. It's not falling apart, and the notes are a bit quiet, followed by more question marks than exclamation points. This is the Bible with which I've struggled. Its supple leather cover remains intact; I've been the one in pieces.
I can mark the seasons of my life by these books. I keep them all, but I think I'd like to get another one soon.
For the new season.