I love the way the pages crinkle
Crackle when I flip them over.
The thin feel of oinion skin (are they really?)
So smooth I sometimes run the pads of my fingers
Down the page.
THe only time they have texture is when I write.
Yes I write in my Bible.
Add my two cents to the Truth.
Not that it needs those cents.
Its a beggar giving pennies to a billionaire.
Taken with some fond amusement.
but wholly unnecessary.
I don't write for me, per say.
I mean, yeah I do, to print things out
To knead things out
Flatter than bread dough,
Only with a pen and not my knuckles.
I don't usually write for me.
I could write in my journal,
On my ankles, down my arms.
I could write anywhere else.
But the more I write the more precious it becomes.
Filled with a poem by John Donne
(Oh Batter my heart three-personed God)
And quotes too precious to put away,
"Faith does not need an immdiate justification
It can wait patiently in the darkness."
My own personaly musings,
"Who I am is not what I do."
And precious sermon notes that,
When I look back over them later
Make no itty-bit of sense.
"Context: In Perea beyond Jordan
arrived in time 4 passover."
But I especially love my Bible,
Because thats where the Lord feeds me.
Thats where my heart is pounded.
Because the Word is a hammer that shatters the rock.
Its also my love letter
From God to me.
I read and, aside from the notes
The light flaky pages--
Aside from everything that makes it mine.
It comes alive in my hands.
That alone makes it His.