My Favorite Possession and the Unknown Soldier

Have you ever lost something dear to you and, years later, it still crosses your mind? I have.

My sophomore year of college, I was flying home from Tampa to Baltimore. I was a two-year-old Christian and had my favorite possession with me… my Red NIV Bible. It was the Bible I bought the day I became a Christian. My friend Ruth had one much like it, and since her testimony was the final straw that made me decide to turn my life over to Christ, I wanted one just like hers :) I read it so much that the leather was soft, and I knew where to find all those really special verses. I might not know the reference, but I knew that if you turned to a certain section of the book, you would find that one really cool verse highlighted in green toward the bottom left—that kind of Bible. That is why it was with me on the plane. I pretty much took it wherever I went.

As I was sitting in the Tampa airport, I noticed a downtrodden soldier staring blankly into a Reader’s Digest. Even though it was seven or eight years ago, I can still picture it like it was yesterday. He had extremely short, jet-black hair, was wearing his uniform, and the Reader’s Digest had blotches of bright red and yellow on the front. The thing I remember most, however, was the lost look in his eyes. Have you ever been in the presence of someone and it’s almost like you can feel the sorrow? That’s how it was. I wondered what he was thinking, who he was leaving behind. What was making him so sad?

In this moment, I knew that I was supposed to give him my Bible. My precious Bible.

I sat in the Tampa airport for the next 45 minutes wrestling with the idea that God would want me to give my Bible away. I kept thinking that if God really wanted him to have a Bible, God could make sure he got one—and it didn’t need to be mine. I felt no peace inside, but I just couldn’t bear the thought of sacrificing my Bible… my dearest possession. Sure, I had other Bibles, but none as special as this one.

Eventually our plane started boarding, and throughout the entire two-hour plane ride, I felt tormented over my decision. I kept thinking about how this guy was likely on his way to Iraq and could possibly die. What would happen to him if I didn’t give him my Bible? Wasn’t it selfish of me to keep it to myself, especially since I had multiple others on my bookshelf at home?

As we made our final descent into Baltimore, the captain’s voice filled the cabin as he announced that the soldiers aboard our flight were joining about 200 others in the Baltimore airport and would be leaving for Iraq in the morning. He asked us all to clap our hands in thanks, and in that moment I knew what I had to do. I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I let him slip away without giving him my Bible.

When our plane landed, I quickly deplaned and stood by the gate, hoping that I hadn’t missed him. I wasn’t sure where he had been sitting or if he would have gotten off the plane before me. I had no idea what I would say to him when I found him, but I didn’t care. I just knew what I had to do and went with the impulse.

I waited and waited, watching as several soldiers made their way down the hall… eventually the line died out, and I realized that everyone was off the plane, but I hadn’t seen my downtrodden soldier.

I decided to run to baggage claim, hoping I would see him there. As I ran through the terminal, I couldn’t stop crying. I don’t know if it was the emotion of giving my Bible away or if it was the work of the Holy Spirit in me, but I was so moved by this young man—and the fact that he was going to war—that I couldn’t stop crying over the situation.

Once I arrived at baggage claim, I realized that I didn’t see him there either. Where had he gone?

I looked up, and just ahead of me and to the right was a tall soldier walking quickly through the terminal. At this point, I was so burdened to give the soldier my Bible that I didn’t really care what I had to do to make it happen. I was not going to let him leave without my favorite possession.

I ran after the soldier and explained my plight. I remember explaining to him that I was looking for “a soldier wearing, well, what you’re wearing… and his hair was black and short… well, kind of like yours…” (at this point realizing the ridiculousness of my description—don’t all soldiers look like that?!) so I thought I would give the defining feature… “He was reading a Reader’s Digest and looking very sad… do you know who he is or where he went? I have to give him my Bible!!!”

The soldier just sneered at me and looked at me like I had gone absolutely crazy. I knew how weird it must have seemed, but I was so absolutely sure that this was what I was supposed to do that I didn’t care.

In response, he told me that 200+ soldiers were meeting in this terminal that night and that there was absolutely no way he could help me find this man. He turned and started to walk off, but I decided that the second-best thing I could do was to give him—the soldier nearly laughing at me—my Bible.

I remember telling him to “wait,” slowly handing the Bible to him, all while explaining that it was very dear and precious to me, and that if he figured out who the man was, to please give it to him—or that he could keep it himself. I reminded him of how precious it was to me and begged him to take good care of it.

I remember the way my heart felt when he looked at the Bible in his hand, back at me, and then laughed. He dropped his arm flippantly to his side, spun around on his heel, and took off—leaving me there in the middle of the airport, hoping that this arrogant man wouldn’t throw my dearest possession in the trash.

I still feel that unnameable feeling I felt when he sarcastically walked away. It hurt to see how little he regarded my Bible. Didn’t he understand how valuable it was? Didn’t he know how much it hurt my heart to give it away… and then to see him treat it so disrespectfully?

I still sometimes wonder if he threw my Bible in the trash or where it ended up. But, you know, it made me think about how God must feel when we disregard His Word. It’s His love letter to us… our instruction guide. It contains the answers to life and God’s expressed love for us. How must He feel when we treat it with so little respect? Don’t we know people died to give us a Bible? What about Christ’s sacrifice? Don’t we care at all that He died for us and that the story of His sacrificial love is written in the pages of that book?

As much as it broke my heart to see my Bible treated so poorly, I can only imagine how God’s heart must have felt in that moment, too.

I still wonder whatever happened to that Bible. Did the tall soldier give it to the downtrodden one? Did he throw it in the trash? If so, did the janitor find it and read it? Did it change his life? Did the tall soldier keep it and finally decide to read it in the middle of the desert while facing the reality of death? Did he accept Christ’s love and forgiveness? Did it change his marriage… his family… his friends?

Have pages been ripped out so different people could have a portion of God’s Word? What does it look like now? I often picture the red cover faded with dust and the pages dirty and worn on the edges. I imagine the pages feel soft with frequent use and turning, and perhaps there are even bloodstains on a few. Have any Iraqis been changed by the Good Book?

Sometimes I imagine a dusty soldier showing up on my doorstep with my Bible in hand. The book contains my name; the name of the church and the date I was baptized; and the dates of new arrivals, weddings, and deaths. I imagine that if someone really wanted to track me down, they could—with a little research and some effort.

I just have to believe that if God laid it on my heart so strongly to give that Bible away, He had great plans for it and that lives have been changed. I don’t think it’s just been one or two either (although the Bible says the angels rejoice even when just one accepts Christ), but I feel in my heart like hundreds—if not thousands—of people have been changed by that Bible.

I hope that one day God will reveal to me where that Bible has traveled and who has been changed by it. I imagine it is a fascinating trail of transformed lives and healed hearts and families. Only God knows… maybe I will never know this side of Heaven, but until then I will keep imagining and wondering, praying that God’s will is still being carried out through the pages contained in my favorite possession.