Not long before Christmas, my husband, Mike, and I attended an out-of-town conference, and I thought we’d drive straight home after it was over. I was surprised when Mike pulled up at a Christian bookstore. “Presents are supposed to be a surprise,” he said, “but I need your input on this before I put it under the tree.” I knew immediately what he had in mind. I’d been so particular about what I wanted in a new Bible that I hadn’t been able to find one on my own.
“I’m looking for a Bible with a good concordance and maps,” I explained to the clerk inside the store. “And with Jesus’ words printed in red.
”The clerk showed me several possibilities. I lifted each one, testing its feel in my hand. One was too big, another too small. I didn’t like the cover on a third. Finally, after I don’t know how many tries, I found the perfect one. Good concordance and maps, just the right size, with a luxuriously soft leather cover. The crisp white pages were even gilded in silver. I looked at Mike. “This is it!”
“Wait here while I emboss your name in silver on the cover,” the clerk said. A nice touch, I thought.
The moment the clerk returned to the counter, I knew something was wrong. “It’s the leather,” he said apologetically. “It’s so soft that the embossing didn’t take well.”
He showed us my name. The silver was hit and miss, flaking off and non-existent in spots. It was as far from perfect as it could get. “I can’t take it like this,” I said sadly. “I’m sorry.”
We weren’t halfway home when I began regretting leaving the Bible behind. Would I really find another as nice as that one? Was it possible I was being a little too particular? Mike had sometimes said as much, but he was quiet now, probably as disappointed as I was.
I tried to put the Bible out of my mind, but over the next few days, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. “I made a mistake,” I admitted to Mike over breakfast one day. “I feel terrible about that Bible going to waste. No one else will buy it with my name on the cover.”
Mike was sympathetic, but what was done was done. The best I could do was learn a lesson, because one did seem to be obvious. My embossed name wasn’t perfect, just like I wasn’t perfect, and God loved me nonetheless. Maybe that lesson was more important than anything else that Bible could offer me.
On Christmas morning, Mike said he had something special for me. I unwrapped—
“My Bible!” I ran my fingers over my half-silver name embossed on the soft leather cover. Somehow, Mike had arranged to get it back.
“It’s beautiful,” my friend at Bible study said, settling down beside me with her coffee. “Such a nice size. And look at the silver edging on the pages.” She gestured—and knocked over her coffee! I snatched the book up as quickly as I could, but it was too late. It’s ruined, I thought, watching coffee drip down off the Romans passage we were studying. My perfect Bible. It’s—
Flawed. Just like me. Flawed and loved unconditionally. My friend apologized profusely, but I assured her my Bible was no worse for wear.
Over the years, its markings have multiplied. Much to Mike’s surprise, I’ve come to love even its few brown, crinkled coffee pages. Each time I come across them in Romans, I am reminded of the sweet Bible study my friend and I had years ago. The imperfections remind me that this book is my companion in everyday life, a life that can sometimes be messy, which is when I need its words most. I’ve even started using it to record important dates and the names of people I pray for, filling the once clean, white pages with my pencil scratches. God showed me how to make the perfect Bible for me even more perfect.
