We Think With The Objects We Love

I received the bible on the day I was baptised, back in 1986. It’s leather bound, but judging from the reddish color and the way it has aged it would be safe to assume that it’s not real leather. It’s a standard sized bible, small enough for a ten year old’s small hands but heavy, the way a book filled with lots and lots of thin pages can deceptively be. It’s not a children’s bible with fun drawings and simplified versions of old stories, but it’s not the lofty language of the King James either - it’s probably an NIV or NASB. I remember using the table of contents to memorize the books of the New Testament - a goal set forth in Sunday School with some small trinket as a prize. The trinket is long gone but somehow, through the detours of my life and faith, I’ve managed to hang on to the bible. Packed away in a box somewhere during my teens and twenties the bible hid in the dark much like my spirituality. Dark stuff indeed. But as I came back into a relationship with God the bible returned into my life once again, in pretty good shape considering. As I’ve matured I don’t fixate on objects - or as I often call them, things or stuff. Like my faith, my attachment to earthly things has lessened as I focus on the eternal. But there is something special about the object that first helped link the earthly world and the spiritual realm for me as a child. I don’t think I actually realized that this worn, old bible is the object I love the most until right now.

Fact and Fancy

I was asked by the nurse to put on the scrubs provided: a gown, a hairnet, a mask, gloves, and booties to go over my shoes. I was anxious to get going, ready to move down the hall to the operating room to join Alissa. The nurse again spoke up, informing me that she would return to get me in about half an hour. I felt like such a long wait was going to wreck my nerves - so much time to worry and imagine the worst scenarios. After the half hour had passed, the nurse did indeed return to the room, but the news wasn’t good: Alissa’s spinal block had “gone high” - she had stopped breathing - and the doctors had needed to put her under general anesthesia to complete the procedure. I panicked, my mind racing, wondering if my wife and son would survive. The nurse attempted to comfort me, trying to assure me that everything would be fine, but that I wouldn’t be joining them in the operating room. Anger that I wouldn’t get to see my son being born tinged my worry. She told me that she’d return once again after the surgery, to let me know how things had gone. I collapsed back on to the couch, upset that I’d have to sit here alone with my worry. Alissa had decided a couple of hours ago, when the pushing was still going well, that we would stop giving phone call and text message updates to friends and family until after the baby had arrived. In my stress I decided to screw that idea - it was time to call our parents. My mom answered the phone with obvious expectation; she was ready for news. The update poured out of my me, my need for comfort greater than her need for news. She told me that it would all work out, as did my dad and my mother-in-law, in subsequent calls. After hanging up the third time I stopped my pacing and again collapsed on the couch, resigned to wait further news. The nurse entered again, quickly informing that things were going well - my son had been born and both he and Alissa were doing well. Elation: they were going to make it and I’d get to see them soon! She left, adding that she’d be back shortly with the newborn, after a last few medical checks. My heart leaped knowing that I’d have him in my arms in mere moments. There was an additional twenty minutes of waiting, but it gave me a chance to call our folks with the wonderful news. Sure enough, the nurse entered the room with my son in her arms and handed him over to me. This beautiful baby - this handsome young man - was my son and I was his proud father. The nurse let me know that Alissa was recovering and would be able to return to meet him in just a couple of hours. Our family would be united for the first time soon and I would get the joy of introducing this perfect baby to his wonderful mother. He sat quietly in my arms. I would treasure this moment, this amazing memory, forever.