On being marked for life

Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But whoever looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues in it—not forgetting what they have heard, but doing it—they will be blessed in what they do. ~James 1:22-25


I have long loved inductive Bible study. I loved looking at the historical timeline to add detail to the picture: When did this event happen? What other events in the world were taking place at the time? How did those other events impact this event? How did this event change history? I loved looking at the people who were talking, or being talked about, or being spoken to. Who were they? Where had they been? Where were they going? Why were they there? What had happened to them? All these who, what, where, when, why, and how questions appealed to my inquisitive nature, the one that led me to pursue a degree in journalism. 

I loved digging deep into the Word of God, going beyond the printed word on the page; I wanted to look at the words behind the words. I loved looking up those verses in the ancient Greek or Hebrew to discern the true meaning of a passage. I would spread open before me Strong's Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible, Vine's Expository Dictionary of Old and New Testament Words, Zodhiates' Complete Word Study Dictionary... and, of course, my Bible. The scholar in me thrilled at the etymological hunt for the deeper, truer, more precise meaning of the words.

I had my colored pencils close at hand, and would fill my Bible with shapes and symbols and colors to highlight key words and phrases, like an artist fills a canvas with paint and images. Purples and yellows for the Trinity and Heaven. Greens for geography and time. Blues and oranges for speakers and listeners and the saints. Browns for sin and suffering. Red for Satan and Hell.  Hearts, arrows, exclamation points, squiggles, squares, circles, triangles... no word left untouched, unexamined, unexplored.

I carried this Bible to services, and furiously scribbled notes in the margin whenever the pastor made a particularly profound observation. On my own, I made lists. I watched for contrasts and comparisons. I searched for themes. I read commentaries and added these observations of others to my own.

Until one day... I stopped. Not suddenly. Not on purpose. It started with a major schedule change that prevented me from attending weekly Bible study. Then a series of events--some within my control, others beyond my control--eventually took me down a path where I no longer attended church regularly, let alone had quiet time with God on my own. And the less time I spent in the Word, the less inclined I was to want to spend time in the Word. Where once I thirsted for the knowledge within, the thought of reading God's Word now left a bitter taste in my mouth. I railed at God for abandoning me, even while I knew, in my heart, that it was I who had abandoned Him.

The realization of this was startling.

For years, I had been marking my Bible. But in all that time, had I ever really allowed God's Word to mark me?