Good To Me

Last year I lived in a little duplex in South Nashville with a beautiful roommate and a cuddly fat cat. I started to learn how to be a grown-up in that house (although today I told a third grader that one of the best things about being a grown-up is sometimes having popcorn and ice cream for dinner). I filed my own taxes from the kitchen table, hosted parties, grocery shopped and cooked and even occasionally cleaned.

I also spent a lot of time in that little house questioning. I questioned what I was doing and how I was doing it. I questioned my politics and my religion and the way I spent my time. I searched the Bible as well as a host of other holy (and not so holy) books. I doubted and prayed, I waited and worried.

I put all my hope in the truth of your promise…

And I steady my heart on the truth of your goodness

And one day while cleaning and searching, I found what I didn’t know I had been looking for. In a forgotten box from an old tenant was a ragged Bible. The inside cover said a woman named Thelma had owned it. Based on the condition of the Bible and Thelma’s loopy cursive, I would guess that Thelma is about 90 years old.

The Bible had some beloved passages underlined and many dog eared pages. The bookmark had unraveled, the title page was almost ripped out.

And inside the back cover, in old-lady cursive was written:

He’s been Good to me.

I don’t know Thelma. I don’t know why those were the only words she wrote in her Bible. Perhaps she needed to be reminded. Maybe she wrote it as a note to someone else during a Sunday service. Or maybe she couldn’t help but write it, a simple prayer of thanks to her Good God.

Regardless, I owe a debt of gratitude to Thelma I kept that Bible and whenever I need a reminder, I flip to the back and remember that He is Good to me.

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