Shabby Scriptures

The word of our God shall stand for ever.—Isaiah 40:8

My Bible is falling apart. And no wonder; I received it at Sunday school on September 29, 1957.

With colorful plates, maps, a concordance and student dictionary complete with illustrations from ark through Zion, it was perfect for a child.

Of course, I’m no longer a kid. Over the years the inexpensive leatherette cover has broken off along the edges. The gold leaf gilding on the title rubbed off years ago and “Holy Bible” has become a dull gray shadow. In fact, the entire front cover sloughed off a couple of months ago, taking the first forty nine chapters of Genesis with it. I stuck it back with cellophane tape, but even that has loosened, so I keep my Bible together with a rubber band. My shabby Scriptures.

They should look a lot worse. For the first thirty years I owned this Bible, I thumbed through it only casually, mostly at Sunday school. Then a dear friend introduced me to daily devotional reading—just as I was going through a divorce with four small children to care for. Bible reading became part of my early morning routine. Over the next fifteen years I underlined and highlighted my favorite passages, all the verses that really made a difference to me. Now I wouldn’t trade that Bible for a more handsome or sturdier edition. It’s my constant companion, my never failing guide through life. No matter what struggles I’m going through, I can always turn to it for the help

I need.

Yes, my Bible may be falling apart, but thanks to the wisdom in its pages, I’m not!

Dear Lord, thank You for Your Word hidden in my heart.

—Gail Thorell Schilling

The Sunday, November 20, 2005 entry by Gail Thorell Schilling included in the “Daily Guideposts 2005” is reproduced with permission from Guideposts, Guideposts.org. Copyright © 2004 Guideposts. All rights reserved.

Help Me to Trust Your Time...

A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.—Ecclesiastes 3:2

Blue flax, newly transplanted from a friend’s yard, fluttered by the mailbox as I stared dumbly at the letter from my landlord of five years. “Therefore, you must find another rental before September 1.”

I shook my head in disbelief. Just a few months earlier the same landlord had invited me to choose new carpet and plant a garden. All spring I had removed sod, forked loam, fertilized and planted gifts from my friends’ gardens. Now the delphinium, lavender, lilies, tulips, daffodils and veronica would stay behind. I’d be gone before the painted daisies, grown from seed, showed their colors.

Leaving my garden was the least of my worries. Where would I go? Rentals were few, and my job search hadn’t turned out the way I had hoped. After twenty three years in my cozy community, why was everything falling apart now?

Or was it? For several years I had pondered relocating two thousand miles back east to my native New Hampshire to keep closer tabs on my frail parents, who were now in their eighties. Was this the right time?

Within days, pieces of the transcontinental move clicked together: I would live at my parents’ summer place in New Hampshire, just an hour away from them, and teach at a nearby junior college. Carol, my friend since college, would drive back with me. I would keenly miss my community and my garden, but I knew my parents needed me nearby.

Minutes before departing, I dug up the English rose I’d planted just weeks earlier. “Rosie” would travel with us and begin a new life in New Hampshire, too. As I started the car to begin our journey, Carol slid in and offered me a nosegay plucked from my now abandoned garden. She smiled.

“Something pretty for the trip—and seeds for your new garden.”

Lord of creation, help me trust Your time, not my own.

—Gail Thorell Schilling

The Thursday, August 26, 2004 entry by Gail Thorell Schilling included in the “Daily Guideposts 2004” is reproduced with permission from Guideposts, Guideposts.org. Copyright © 2003 Guideposts. All rights reserved.

Grace - and Pie

But unto every one of us is given grace.… —Ephesians 4:7

“I'm just stupid!” wailed my daughter Tess, then twelve, as she slammed her bedroom door. She had tried to make macaroni and cheese out of a box; unfortunately, she hadn't drained the water before adding the cheese powder. Now her siblings teased her about her “orange soup.”

“Dear Lord, this child needs a success, quick! What can I do?”

Try again. Cook something easy with her. Don't give up or she will too.

When I invited Tess to make dessert, she zeroed in on a new recipe, Pink Angel Pie: prefab pie crust, a can of cherry filling and some meringue. How hard could that be?

First, she jerked the plastic wrap off the frozen shell, sending it skidding across the counter to shatter on the floor. Before she could cry, I picked up the pieces and swallowed my rebuke. “You know, Tess, pie dough is just like clay. You can just pinch it and press it back together.” Next, she opened the can of cherry filling and dropped the gooey lid on the kitchen rug. I stayed calm.

Now the tricky part: separating eggs. Once again, I withheld critique as she fished a few egg shell shards from the bowl, then beat the egg whites soft and high, splattering meringue on the cabinets. With a flourish, my increasingly confident daughter spread the fluffy topping on her creation and slid it into the oven for browning.

Well, Tess's dessert drew rave reviews from her siblings, and “orange soup” has become a family legend. Best of all, God gave both my daughter and me grace when we sorely needed it, thanks to Pink Angel Pie.

Gracious Lord, thank You for sending abundant grace wherever we are, even in a stained, meringue spattered kitchen.

Digging Deeper: Ps. 21:6–7; Luke 6:37–39

—Gail Thorell Schilling

The Monday, February 11, 2013 entry by Gail Thorell Schilling included in the “Daily Guideposts 2013” is reproduced with permission from Guideposts, Guideposts.org. Copyright © 2012 Guideposts. All rights reserved.