The Little Red Bible
God doesn’t belong to me.
He belongs to those who can afford Him (and not in the spiritual sense; perhaps souls have monetary worth in Heaven). The price of God is steep. He comes to others in music. Here, there are no instruments, no radio, no power & hearing me sing is torture. He presents Himself in fine dishes. It’s hard to taste God in burnt rice. He shows up in churches & temples, constructed with durable materials, adorned with shiny, gold things.
I walk into a Baptist church barefoot. They send me away. They hand me a parting gift, a little red bible to study. The following Monday, I come home from the fields. My eyes ache and it grows too dark to read without power. Still, I strain over the words my little brain cannot comprehend. So I write my little name on a crisp thin page in the little red bible.
It belongs to me now. But God doesn’t belong to me. He belongs to those who can afford Him.
Do I belong to God? Can He afford me?