I still have the first bible bought when I became a follower of Christ, it's a raggedy 'message' bible, held together with duct tape, and I have fond memories of it. It reminds of the initial excitement of receiving this saviour, of the hope I had knowing I finally had someone who understood me, the joy of having years of guilt and sin lifted from me.
Yet when I open this bible the fond memories soon melt away, when I see my poor, sloppy underlining and illegible notes and when I read these notes I think to myself:
"was I really that stupid?"
And I quickly close the bible lest I embarrass myself further.
But now I look at the notes fondly, because despite my lack of 'good' theology (whatever that means) at the time, I see that it's the first journal of my discovery of a new world, a world created by the God who won't define himself simply for me but simply says 'I am!', and I see myself as I still am, fumbling around in this great and complex book, trying to follow the bread crumbs that Christ has left for me, and finding the hand written sticky notes he's left for me on rocks in the desert and seeing my initials he carved into a tree.
When I see these notes, as silly as some of them are, I remember the way it felt when I first discovered these things, when I first felt the urge to use a felt tip on the thinnest most porous paper known to man to remind myself of something that seemed spectacular at the time and I hope to always have this feeling whenever I enter this 'world of the word', that it would never feel mundane or too familiar, and that I would keep finding the bread crumbs and the sticky notes.
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