Captain Crunch and Job.

I spilled a bowl of Captain Crunch Berries into my bible this morning.

My elbow came down, right into the bowl, everything toppled over, and just like that, Murphy had a feast of dairy and sugar on the floor, and my delightful disposition had been altered just a few degrees.

I’ve always said that I respect and admire damage to a book. (I am a faithful damager of books.) It breeds character. It tells the story of the story.

I think the swollen pages say, “She took this book to the pool on a summer afternoon, and her fingertips were drippy as she read.”

Or, “The pages are stuck together because she was eating graham crackers and frosting while she read.”

Or, “The black streak on the back cover is some kind of librarian code from the bookstore where she bought it.”

Or, “The scribbles on the inside cover are from her toddler, and she has dozens of such books from that season in her life.”

Or, “She dropped it in a puddle. Give her a freaking break.”

Or, “She was reading while she was fixing dinner, hence the marinara sauce on the binding.”

And now my bible, Job 19-23, is stained, tattered, torn, sticky, and lumpy. The pages are crispy and crunchy.

But on these pages, I had underlined these words Job spoke to his friends, those who meant so well but were really only good for him while they sat quietly without speaking. (Let this be a lesson to us all: silence is not uncaring. It is gracious being.)

Oh, that my words were recorded, that they were written on a scroll, that they were inscribed with an iron tool on lead, or engraved in rock forever. I know that my Redeemer lives.

To read this, on the very week when I will hold in my hands the dream come true, the fruition of two years of writing and many years of life, the book I have written.

Today I claimed these words over this book and any other I will write:

If anyone understands anything from my words, may it be this: I know that my Redeemer lives.

Anything else is love and dry wit and thoughtful endings. But at the core, there is that truth: I know that my Redeemer lives.

I know that my Redeemer lives, and Captain Crunch has left his mark in the book of Job.