Yet not held, for the story bursts out to be lived in us, through us, among us.
It was sung by angels, passed from the lips of one itinerant shepherd to another.
Stone scraps of the story were carried in the ark of the covenant, treated with respect.
It was stuffed in jars and caves, sometimes rolled in reverence; men stood at its reading.
It was told around the fire as fishermen roasted their catch, spoken at wells and at weddings.
As time passed, it was translated and treasured, passed in pieces from one to another.
Then came the press that would place copies in the hands of the thirsty.
And now, with the click of a key, the story goes on.
The story is printed in the Book, but it lives in us.
Lives that are permeated with its words can't help but reveal the story.
When I ponder all of those who penned,
and lived the story,
I'm awed by my place in the tale.
May the words of that true tale -- found only in the Book -- permeate my life
and spill over on those around me.
May I love its legacy,
May I live the story.
I'm linking up with Laura, Michelle, and Jen today.