At a gospel meeting several years ago I and a member of the congregation stopped by to visit an elderly sister confined to her home. She was sitting on the
couch with her left leg propped up on some pillows next to her. A recent surgery had left behind a wound
that was not healing the way it should. She was experiencing a great deal of pain and her doctor was at a loss for
why it would not heal.
Even before the wound on her leg
she was not able to get around very well. Having been an elementary schoolteacher until her retirement, she had spent a great deal
of her life chasing small children here, there, and yonder. Years of carrying them, playing with
them, and holding them had stooped her frame dramatically. She could no longer walk on her own but required the aid of a walker to get around. A simple journey from the couch to the kitchen was very difficult for her. When I met her most of her days were filled with
nurses visiting the home, medicines being taken, waiting for brethren to stop
by to run errands she could no longer run for herself, and hours sitting upon
that couch talking to her husband who was confined to a chair pressed up against her couch.
She and her husband had twins
about sixty years ago who did not survive their first year of life. They were never able to have children
after that. She did have some family
living in the region but they only called on their aging relatives rarely and never without requesting money from them. For all intents and purposes the only
family they had were the members of the church.
As I sat there observing this
elderly sister I found myself thinking that this must be an absolutely
depressing way to have to live. Surely she must be bitter and frustrated having to spend her final years
like this. Then I noticed the open
Bible lying on the floor within easy reach from her seat on the couch. I noticed a pen and a highlighting
marker sitting on the open pages. Then it occurred to me that she had not told me any of the things I have
described thus far. All of this
information was given me by the brother who had brought me there. She never mentioned her pain, her inability
to get around, lingering heartache over the loss of the twins, or her absentee
family members. In fact, she never
complained a single time while we were there.
It was then I noticed how
colorful the pages of her Bible were. There were notes and highlighted passages all over the place. When I mentioned this to her she slowly
bent down and picked up that Bible. She put it in her lap and smiled down at the pages. I was struck as I realized that this
was not just a book to her, this was her dearest and closest friend. Her own language was saturated with the
language of Scripture. Rarely have
I met a Christian who could so seamlessly weave the words of Jesus Christ and
His inspired writers into nearly every sentence. Rarely have I seen a Christian for whom
the Holy Writ was so dynamically alive! Her eyes lit up as we began to talk about God and His
Word. More than knowing the Book,
she loved it. More than knowing
about the Book, she lived it. I
realized then that her days were not spent in idleness; they were spent in near
constant study and Bible discussion with the man who had been by her side ever
step of the way. Incidentally, I
never really met her husband as he slept soundly in his chair after our first
few minutes in the house. The
years had caught up to him, too. However, I could not fail to notice his own worn Bible on the end table
next to his chair.
Worn Bibles. That’s what those two elderly soldiers
of the cross owned. Her Bible was
taped and several pages were now sitting loose having pulled free from the
binding. This aging saint was
riddled with pain and abandoned by family. Yet the Lord still stood by her and strengthened her. She knew it and it preserved her. What joy she possessed! As we left I was reminded of a
centuries old observation: Bibles that are falling apart usually belong to
people who aren’t. How true in the
case of this beautiful elderly sister!
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