My Hand Hurts
I am contemplating the Bible. I think upon it every time my hand hurts.
I ponder the person or persons who translated it into English.
A long time ago.
As I copy the text with my own hand, the hand that thinks Matthew Chapter 5 is so insanely long, I find gratitude flowing forth from my pen.
I get to use fun colors. Switch them out.
I am writing the Word with my native language.
No translation involved.
I can stop if I want. I don’t have to finish the project.
This lofty idea of writing the entire Bible by hand.
Entirely my own. (Meaning no one put a gun to my head and told me to write.)
Other than the potential to make me more like Christ, if I stop writing the Word, it won’t affect anyone.
I won’t quit. Not only is it a legacy for my husband and children, but it reminds me of the work yet to be done – yet to be finished. (Matthew 24: 14)
There are real laborers doing the hard work. Moving families. Establishing themselves in a foreign culture. Learning a new language. Training locals.
Bringing hope to a people lacking the Word of God. Lacking truth. Who don’t know about the loving God and His Son, Jesus.
I get to open that hope whenever and where ever I want.
Luckkkk-eeeeee. (OK . . . blessed. Luckkk-eeeee just sounded better.)
I shall pick up my pen.
I think I will use gold today.
What color will you use?
Join me in my pursuit of seeing the Vidunda people from Tanzania have the Bible translated into their own language. Visit One Verse.