Earlier this week I finished reading through the Bible. It’s something I’ve done a few times now, and while each time has been a different format or reading plan, one thing has remained consistent—reading from a physical Bible.
I love technology. I try to take advantage of it as much as possible, but the whole digital reading movement has left me in the dust. I just like books. I like highlighting. I like writing in the margins. I prefer turning pages over swiping a screen.
My wedding gift from my wife was a ridiculously nice wide-margin ESV Bible. Ever since unwrapping it, I’ve been reading it (almost) every day. I underline and circle words. I highlight verses. I make notes and reminders for myself in the margins. I record important dates on blank pages—like our wedding day, the day my son was born, and the day my grandpa died. I try to make note of significant moments when I’m needing God’s direction or thanking him for his provision.
And one day, I plan to give it away.
Why? Because there’s more that goes into reading my physical Bible than preference over the digital version. For me, it comes down to legacy.
Spurgeon once said that, “A Bible that’s falling apart usually belongs to someone who isn’t.” My hope is that one day when I’m gone my children will be handed a worn-out, marked-up, and tattered Bible that’s falling apart at the seams—the same oversized Bible that they can remember their dad reading from most days. I hope that through years of notes, confessions, and scribbles squeezed into the margins they’ll discover that their dad was far from a perfect man, but he desperately clung to the Word that pointed him to a perfect Savior.
Just so you know, I’m not anti-digital Bible. I have multiple Bible apps readily available across my various devices. But when it’s all said and done, I just don’t think my children will say, “You know, I’m really glad dad left us with his YouVersion app.”