"Leviticus is my favorite book of the Bible," said no one. Ever.

      A few months ago (okay, let's be honest. . . in 2012) I made a commitment to read the Bible all the way through, from covereth to covereth, as I like to say. Well, here we are. It's 2016. . . and five months ago I was still working on Genesis 35. Winner, winner, chicken dinner right here, folks.
      Like a good girl, my Bible was almost color-coded it was so stuffed with notes, highlights, doodles, pictures, and dates, all from studies, revivals, services, blessings, and anything else you can imagine spanning over a 15 year period. Some of the pages in my Good Book were so worn that, feeling their importance, they detached themselves from their original home altogether. When visiting a nearby church body in January a year ago, my New Testament, as if prodded by revelation, sprouted forth and left  his brothers behind, shed the old leather binding, and chose to lay prostrate on the floor, I'm assuming to worship Jesus.

      It was time for a new Bible.

      Oh, how I didn't want to purchase a new Bible. I writhed in pain over this decision, friends. It wasn't because I'm cheap. I am. But that wasn't my reasoning. I had developed a relationship with my Love Letter.
      I believe with all of my heart that the Word of God is alive, not just inside of us, but on the very pages we read. For example, I can read John 3:16 a hundred times and get a different message, with the same unchanging root purpose, every single time. It's how God works. He's rich with creativity, kind of like food. Take the pizza for instance: by no means is pizza as yummy as the Bible, but for metaphorical purposes we're using it. I like to think I can pack the food pyramid onto a supreme pizza, allowing for my daily dose of nutritional goodness, but let's not get too crazy here. My point is, pizza is so delicious that we continue to eat it, crave it, and it never really gets old. The best is leftover pizza that has been nuked in the microwave. It's the same pizza we had the night before at dinner when mom wasn't feeling up to cooking, but there's something different, almost better about it when we reheat it and devour the leftovers. The Word isn't much different. Only it's fresh out of the oven, never tasting like one has had it before. We can chew on it, swallow it, and be filled, but when we go back for more, it's even better the second time.
      This relationship with my Letter is like that. I had several verses highlighted so many times that the original color was indecipherable and the thin paper it stained was beginning to bald. For me, those verses kept getting better and better with every spiritual bite, and my need to highlight and mark only grew. When asked about the significance of any color or mark, I could always recall every single situation. It was like that with my Teen Study Bible from middle and high school as well. . . the one that Kirk Cameron signed circa Winterfest, Audio Adrenaline, and way before Fireproof . . . but we won't go there. And the same for my Precious Moments Bible I'd asked for repeatedly every year for Christmas, and finally I found it in my Mom's used white Volvo trunk hidden with the rest of my Christmas presents including the Boyz II Men album. . . but we won't go to that place either.
      My Bible meant the world to me. I didn't leave home without it. For years I had waited for this particular Bible. I grew up in Holly Creek Baptist Church in Chatsworth, where those holy baptismal waters were constantly stirring, be they from baptisms or youth kids hiding there during services. Our youth group was large, loud, and proud, and we were a tight-knit circle of 12 to 18 year-olds who knew too much about each other, but loved unconditionally in spite of it all. We were there for one another through thick and thin, up and down, and every rite of passage.
      At graduation time every year, each passing senior was awarded a new Bible from the pastor/church family on the Sunday before graduation, and their future plans were announced to the church body. Following the service was a fellowship meal because, well, Baptists eat. Why else? Boy, was I excited about that new Bible from the time we joined the church at 11 years old. I was excited to be presented with such a gift, to hear the fluttering of the new, crisp, golden-edged pages as I flipped through them. I was excited to highlight everything I had memorized and then to make more notes and marks. This Bible represented one of those rites of passage for me, although I don't really know which one or even why. Maybe it marked the beginning of me taking charge of my walk with God without an adult leading me.

      I don't much remember that anticipatory day. I just remember the Bible itself. The cool of the leather binding in my eager little hands. My name written beautifully in the front flap in Baptist church secretary cursive. The number 19  slashed like so because it was only spring in the new millennium and the 2000 models had not yet been published. I couldn't wait to get my highlighters in on this thing.

      That was in May of 2000. For 15 years my Bible has gone everywhere with me. I took it to Mississippi College and on tour with the Continentals to 13 states and 26 cities; it went every single day with me to Dalton State College, always tucked safely in my bookbag as I referred to it daily. It was with me the day I found out I was pregnant with Lilli, the day I married my sweet Jordan, and I took it on my honeymoon. It was with me in the hospital the day our precious Lilli made her glorious entrance into the world; I clung to it when my Granny Stella, Lilli's namesake, gracefully exited and passed into eternity. I read it when Jordan was grieving so helplessly as his PawPaw passed. It was my shield through every difficult storm, and its promises were what helped me continue to walk by faith when MS arrived on the scene in attempt to steal my joy. My Bible was there when I thought a spiritual trial was the end of this world as I knew it, as my husband spiritually spoon fed its words to me so that I wouldn't starve. Finally, my Word moved with me to Nashville and carried me through an entire semester of a new major at a new school, showing me new things I'd never seen before, no matter how many times I'd marked them.
      When I finally got the nerve to move forward with a new Bible, I prayed about it. I had no idea what to get and I compared everything to my Old Faithful. I wanted something I could take notes in and something small. God showed me the ESV journaling Bible. I'd always had NKJV or NIV, and I loved the latter. But as a theology student I needed to move toward the ESV due to Greek translation purposes.
      As I stood in Lifeway I trekked back and forth between three different Bibles. I bought one, then when I got home I realized it didn't have a concordance, so I took it back. I had finally narrowed it down to two and ended up going with the ESV Journaling Bible. But you don't understand how hard this choice was for me! I felt like Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade. I just knew I was gonna end up like Walter Donovan and that my hair would look like Ramen Noodles as my skin melted off of my face, right there in the Lifeway! I had to choose wisely. Finally, I made my decision. And oh, how wonderful and perfect that decision was.
      As soon as I bought my Bible I ran to the WalMart for a brand new, shiny box of Crayola colored pencils. I got home and pulled out my best highlighters, pens, and pencils, and I began reading.
      I picked up right where I left off in Genesis, determined to read this Letter through all the way to the end. I drew pictures and made a few notes, but I didn't highlight anything just yet. In the past I had gone back and copied what was highlighted in my previous Bible. But this time was different. I want to experience it all over again, new and fresh. If there's anything in this life that one wants to "do-over," reading the Bible is it. It's not like leftovers; it's fresh.
      I kept going and made my way through Exodus. Did you know there were giants and fallen angels that slept with human women? Oh! I just sparked your interest didn't I? That's right. Go read it. You'll love it. Good stuff. I drew pictures as God gave them to me. I made notes in my computer about things I'd never really considered before. And the questions. . . They were overwhelming. But God, in His mighty ways and this incredible relationship we have, answered every single question.
      I stopped to pray while reading and I'd ask God to show me, speak to me, reveal things to me. Within a chapter or two He'd do just that.
      Finally I arrived at Leviticus.

Holy moly, Lord Jesus, help me.

      I was getting bored. Fast. There were laws and rules and steps and I kept getting lost and asking questions like, "Why, God, is it a sin to be around a woman after she's given birth? You made this process, did You not?" Confused, I kept praying and studying fervently, grabbing scholarly articles and journals. And God revealed His answers.
      In the midst of reading these laws and learning the purpose behind them, I began to feel so separated from the One I was clinging to; it was as if I couldn't reach my Father. That doesn't make sense, does it. One should feel closer than ever to her Creator when reading His words. Remember when I said that the Word is alive and active? Because of this, the Bible has a sort of transforming power. No, not the kind we think of when we say that it changes us, although that power still applies. This power is different. God's word is so deeply planted into our souls that we become part of the story. Our present story is a continuation of the Jewish nation, of the New Testament church, of Jesus; we are the new Israel, the new covenant. The reason I felt so separated from God is because I could somehow identify with the chasm that existed between Israel and God, between humanity and God. It's why all of those laws were put into place to begin with, but that's a whole other blog post. Yet here we are, living proof of that continuation and we now have concrete access to the Father of lights in the form of the written word whenever we want! All we have to do is open it up and read it, listen to it, and feel it as that cool, living water courses through our thirsty spirits.
      I finally made it out of the Levitical wilderness and on to Numbers. If you're a logophile like me, you'll appreciate the book of Numbers because it has absolutely nothing to do with algebra like I feared. (I just knew God didn't mean for that horrible subject to be taught in school! Sorry. I'm done.) Now it's January and I'm in Deuteronomy. . . Okay, I've been in Deuteronomy for about three months but in my defense I'm a senior, guys, and I have no life. I have to pack it in when I can, not to say that I'm not getting my daily dose of Bread.
      All in all, I did it. I took the plunge and I bought a new Love Letter. It has fanned the flames of my faith, friends, and I'm seeing its words again as if with new eyes. So I encourage you: pick up your Good Book. Read it. Love it. Devour it. Rediscover again and again all that Father has to share with you. Trust me, He's like a kid on Christmas morning waiting to show you all of His new toys and the tons of cool things they can do, only you won't get tired after a few hours. Instead, you'll be refreshed, renewed, and you'll fall in love with the Master of creation, the Writer of the words on your heart, all over again.



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