By: Angela Herrington
God’s Word is timeless, yet it still meets me where I’m at each day. I am continually amazed by this. Passages I have read many times suddenly come alive with new meaning. Sometimes stories become so real I can hear the crowds and smell the sea.
Lately, I have taken great comfort in knowing that my mother, grandmothers, and great-grandmothers all held these same words. We had different books, but, God, Your words written in my great-grandmothers’ bibles then are the same today. Your truth and love that met my family on that little dirt road in Kentucky, the farm in Southern Indiana, that small town church in Boone County, in the sterile halls of the orphanage is the same redemptive word that is in me every day. The same words the women in my lineage clung to as their children grew, as their husbands died, and as their siblings passed away one by one are the same words we clung to as we grieved our loss of them. We grieved over their physical death and of the death of their memory to a horrible disease. We comforted each other and our children with your words, remembering the way they wrapped themselves in your word daily. I think about those well-worn Bibles with the tattered edges and wonder if I will ever have the strength that flowed through the women in my family. Then you gently remind me that their strength was Your strength and it always surrounds me. It only grows stronger the more I embrace You. Their strength—Your strength—is here for my generation, just as it has been for previous generations and will be for daughters and granddaughters to come.