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The first time I opened my father’s Bible wasn’t after he died.
I wasn’t looking for answers back then. I was too consumed in my grief.
It was almost a decade after he died, and I was desperate to feel close to him. I was walking through the second most difficult season of my life, and I really, really needed my dad.
His Bible sat on the shelf for years, untouched. The cover was worn, pages were falling out, and the spine was creased from years of devotion. Inside I found underlined verses, scribbled notes in the margins, and tiny reminders that seemed almost invisible when he was alive.
The day I finally decided to open his Bible was a few days after I was fired from a job of two decades. I felt angry, sad, shame, confused, all the emotions someone feels when a job that provided structure and security suddenly lets you go. But what I really felt was completely worthless. I didn’t know how to go on. I desperately needed reassurance and someone to remind that I will survive, that this too shall pass. My hands carefully held his Bible, and I took a deep breath. I envisioned my dad sitting next to me, guiding me once again.
One page immediately caught my eye, it was worn with love, highlights faded yellow.
“Faith without works is dead.” James 2:17
I had heard this verse before, but now, in the quiet of my living room, it hit differently. It wasn’t a rule or a lesson; it was a whisper of my father’s life. The way he quietly helped people, gave his time, and showed love without making a fuss; even when he was battling stage four cancer, my dad was always a force to be reckoned with. My dad was the glue that kept us all together. And now in death he is still guiding me. It was all here, written in ink and habit, left behind for me to find during one of my darkest seasons.
As I flipped further, I discovered notes in his handwriting, reflections on tough days, moments of doubt, and sometimes just a date. Each mark felt like a breadcrumb leading me through his heart and mind, showing me the way he navigated his own storms.
Grief can feel heavy, like a maze you are unable to get out of. But holding his Bible, I realized that my grief isn’t a prison; it’s a teacher. Each verse, each faded yellow highlight, is a lesson in resilience, patience, and love. I could hear him saying, “Everything will be okay. Keep going even though it feels impossible right now.”
I thought about the last decade when he couldn’t guide me anymore: the first Christmas without him, my wedding day, the days when life felt uncertain, the days I desperately need his advice. But in the margins of his Bible, I found his voice, reminding me that action matters, that love matters, and that faith is measured in what we do, not just what we say.
Reading his notes, I began to realize that grief isn’t about moving on. You never move on; you never forget. Grief is about learning how to carry someone’s love forward, even when they are gone. My father’s Bible became a map of how to live my life, quietly guiding me through my own fears and doubts.
And tucked away in the margins of his Bible, I found the reminder I didn’t know I was looking for: life keeps asking us to show up, even when it hurts.
And I will be okay, as long as I let my faith guide me.
~
author: Lisa Ingrassia
Image: Author's Own
Editor: Lisa Erickson
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