Ever since that fateful Saturday morning when the Holy Spirit arrested me and laid me prostrate in his presence,
my love for the Bible has never waned. Even today, though I don’t believe in
God, I still appreciate the Bible for its wisdom and interesting stories, just
not as a holy book. There are some parts of it, however, that could be done away with.
The Bible was the first thing I fell in love with after my
conversion experience. I remember rushing home to tell my mother that I had
gotten ‘slain’ in the prayer meeting I went to and that I needed to get a Bible
of my own. She ridiculed me, saying that I was just playing the fool, but gave
me an old, golden-brown paged Bible never the less. I guess it made her happy
to see her son actually interested in things holy.
The pages were well oiled, so to speak, and one of them was
sticking out of the middle as though trying to get out. It was the beloved
Psalm 23 - “Yahweh is my shepherd, I lack nothing.” Half of itself was missing,
sadly. An old wives’ tradition was to place a copy of the Word of God at the
foot of a child’s crib to ward off any uninvited spiritual guests – emphasis on
the word ‘foot.’ The Psalm was unceremoniously ripped across its centre by my
own baby-feet, probably while crying for ‘tea-tea’.
I love that story for its irony. The same feet that were used to
tear the Bible apart, were the same feet I would use to “Go forth and preach.” “How
lovely on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news!” Isaiah
52:7. My feet were made lovely, thank goodness.
