I lost one of my Bibles.
My other Bibles mostly stay at home, but this compact Bible has traveled with me everywhere: on adventures around the globe, to work, on walks, and everywhere in between. It fits perfectly in my fanny pack. I’ve had it for a couple of years, and it has accumulated more notes and highlights than any of my other Bibles. It even has a fun sticker of Jesus holding boba on the cover.
I think I left it at church last Sunday. But strangely enough, I am not particularly bothered by it. I could rush back and try to find it, but I don’t feel the need to. If I find it again this coming Sunday, sure. If I don’t, I don’t mind.
I think the Bible is the only thing I own that I would happily lose.
I don’t mean losing it in the sense of it being accidentally thrown into the ocean or something. I would be sad if that happened. However, I would be delighted if someone else found it, flipped through it, read it, or even took it home and made it their own.
If its pages lead someone to Jesus, I would, without a doubt, be grateful that I lost it.
