Walt's Bible sat on my nightstand for four months. I couldn't bring myself to open it.
Everybody kept telling me the comfort was in there. I wanted it. I didn't know where to start. Then Lorraine from my Sunday school class brought over a guide with one short page for every book of the Bible, so there was nothing to figure out first. That's why Walt's Bible lives on our kitchen table now, open, right beside mine.
I'm sixty-six. I kept the books at a farm-supply store here in Joplin for thirty years before I retired, and Walt and I were married forty-one years. I can still balance a ledger to the penny.
Every morning Walt read his worn black Bible at the kitchen table, glasses down his nose, pencil in hand. He'd read me a line while I poured. He passed in March, and the house got so quiet I could hear the clock.
I moved his Bible to my nightstand the week after. Most nights I'd put my hand on it and leave it closed. When I tried my own Bible, the words slid right off the page.
Our son Danny calls from Tulsa every Sunday evening. In June he asked me straight out, "Mom, are you reading at all?" I told him I was fine. He let a long pause go by, the way Walt used to. We both knew I hadn't answered him.
I did try. Folks from church brought by devotionals, and they piled up on the hall table with the bookmarks still stuck near the front. I tried starting at Matthew and gave up by day four. I'd read a paragraph three times and still couldn't tell you what it said. My mind just wouldn't hold on to a thought.
Our Sunday school class has a group text, mostly casserole sign-ups and prayer requests. I'd been quiet on it since spring. In July I typed one honest line, that I couldn't seem to read my Bible anymore, and sent it before I lost my nerve. Lorraine Bixby answered first.
"Judy, I know that one. I lived it," Lorraine wrote. "Text me when you get a minute, and quit feeling bad about it."
I sat out on the porch swing and texted her back, just her this time.
"Lorraine, I haven't opened Walt's Bible since March. I try mine and read one line four times. He made it look so easy every morning."
She called that same evening. I was eating supper standing up at the counter, which I'd been doing a lot.
"I was just like you after Earl," she said. "Couldn't get through a grocery list. What got me reading again was something simple, one page at a time. I'll be over Tuesday morning with a coffee cake."
What Lorraine set on my kitchen table that Tuesday
She was on my front step at nine with a coffee cake still warm under foil and the guide sitting right on top. Brown leather-look cover, a ribbon bookmark. She'd bought the three-copy bundle so she'd have extras to give away, and she left me a spare to pass along.
"Here's all it is," she said, opening it to Genesis. Each page tells you who wrote that book, who it was for, when and why, and what was happening in the world. Then the main themes, what the book shows you about God, one truth to hold onto and one small step for the week. "Five minutes. Read the page, then open that book in your Bible. Tomorrow you turn to the next page, and that's the whole plan."
"And I'm hardly the only one using it," she said. "The company says they've sold over 100,000 copies worldwide. It's a plain study guide to the whole Bible, the same one I give everybody. On hard mornings it gives you somewhere to start."
I almost laughed. "Lorraine, I can't make it through the church bulletin these days."
"So skip the bulletin," she said. "One page with your morning coffee. Five minutes, and you can quit right there if that's all you've got. By fall you'll be handing one of these to somebody else, you watch."
I kept my doubts to myself. That stack of devotionals was still on the hall table, and every one had sounded easy when somebody handed it to me.
She left it by Walt's chair at the table. That night I set it on my nightstand, right on top of his Bible.
The first week, and the prayer I wrote out on the porch
Wednesday I poured my coffee, sat down at the table, and read the Genesis page. It took about five minutes, and I understood every word of it.
Then I fetched Walt's Bible from the nightstand and opened it for the first time since March. Genesis, one chapter. That was plenty for a first morning.
His pencil notes ran down the margins. Beside one line he'd written a date, 1987. I had to stop for a minute, then I finished the chapter.
After that I quit carrying things around. The guide, Walt's Bible and mine stay on the kitchen table by the sugar bowl, so there's nothing to remember.
The next morning, same thing. Coffee, one page, Exodus.
By day three I hit a morning where the page was all I could manage. I read it, left the chapter for another day, and washed my cup.
One page at breakfast. On a bad morning, that was still something I could do, and I hadn't been able to say that about much in months.
I texted Lorraine: "Is it all right if some days I only read the page? I did Leviticus this morning and never opened the Bible."
She wrote back right away: "Of course it is. The page is there for the days you can't do more. The first winter after Earl, I had plenty of those. A page at a time is how I kept reading at all."
On Saturday I read the "one truth to hold onto" part twice, slowly, just to keep it with me.
I still missed him at every meal. But I felt a little steadier, quietly, like a porch light somebody had left on for me.
And I let that be enough for now.
One evening I took the guide out to the porch and wrote in the space on the page. A short prayer, then a few lines about Walt whistling at the bird feeder. And the house felt less quiet with those words in ink.
I felt like a woman who had somewhere to start again.
And that was WEEK ONE.
Why one short page got me reading my Bible again
Around week three I was rinsing my cup and realized I hadn't missed a morning in nine days. I hadn't kept anything going that long all year. I called Lorraine and asked her to tell me again why one little page was sticking.
What she told me made sense, and I've thought about it a lot since.
Why "just read the Psalms" is hard at first
Everybody tells you to read the Psalms and lean on the Lord, and I'd say the same. In those first months my mind wouldn't hold a thought, and the Bible felt too big to even open.
The other route is devotionals. Folks brought me enough to cover the hall table, and every one of them assumed I could sit still and follow a thought for ten minutes.
So my Bible stayed shut on the nightstand. I saw it there every night for four months.
Why the same plain page helps a tired mind
Lorraine put it to me like this:
"Grief makes every decision heavy, even where to start reading. This takes that one decision off your plate. You just turn the page."
Every page is laid out the same way. It starts with the book itself, who wrote it and what was going on back then. Next comes what it means and what it shows you about God. Last is what to do with it this week. It's all plain English, and I never hit a seminary word I had to look up. By the second week my eyes went right where I needed them.
There's room on every page to write your prayers and notes. Mine fills up with prayers and little things about Walt, like how he hummed while he shaved.
What Lorraine likes is that it always sends you back to your own Bible. It sits right alongside your prayers and your church.
Mine lives right next to Walt's Bible now, and I like them that way.
Lorraine calls it a handrail. You still climb the stairs yourself, but there's something to hold onto on the way up.
It gives me a place to start every morning, and it keeps pointing me back to God's Word, where the hope is.
What you'll find on every page
I read the Genesis page to Danny over the phone one Sunday night. Every page has the same three parts:
Book Snapshot: who wrote the book and who it was for, when and why it was written, and what was happening in the world at the time. It gives you your bearings before you open your Bible.
Meaning and Message: the key themes, what the book shows you about God, and a spot to put the big idea in your own words. Some mornings that one line was all I wrote.
Application: one truth to hold onto and one habit or step to live out this week. All 66 books get the same layout, one page each, Genesis through Revelation, so you always know what's waiting on the next page.
A page takes about five minutes, then you open your Bible. It's A5 size with a leather-look cover, light enough to carry to church in a purse.
The Wednesday night supper I didn't see coming
We were about ten weeks in. It was late September, and our church had its Wednesday night supper in the fellowship hall.
Nothing special about it. Same folding tables, same green beans, and the same coffee urn the men keep promising to replace.
I hadn't told a soul I was reading again.
A page, a chapter, and then out the door for errands. That was my whole morning by then, and I didn't have to talk myself into any of it.
Peggy Arnold set her plate down across from mine. Peggy lost her sister in June, and since then we'd mostly traded nods in the church hallway.
She'd seen me back in the spring, when I couldn't sit through a whole service without slipping out to my car.
"How are you doing, Judy? Really," she asked. Then she tipped her head at me. "You seem steadier. I noticed it at church on Sunday."
I looked down at my plate for a second.
That's when I noticed.
I'd been telling her about reading John a few weeks back, how Jesus cried with his friends at Lazarus's tomb, then called him out. And I'd talked about Walt and about God in the same breath. I hadn't been able to do that since March.
Then Peggy asked me the thing I still think about.
"Where do you even start? I can't get past the first page of anything."
"One page a morning," I said. "Out of a little guide Lorraine gave me, the Bible Study Guide Journal from Saints Label."
Peggy dug a pen out of her purse and wrote it down on her napkin, every word. One question turned into the two of us still sitting there while the men stacked the chairs around us.
Lorraine came by with the coffee pot. "What'd I tell you?" she said. "By fall."
Lorraine's spare was out in my car. I went and got it and handed it to Peggy across the table.
I drove home with the radio off, thinking about Peggy and her sister.
I had my mornings with God back.
The ten weeks I marked off in the margin
A page a morning, and a little check in the margin when I finished, the way I used to tick off invoices at the store. Nobody was rushing me.
Day 1: Genesis. The page took about five minutes. Then one chapter in Walt's Bible, his pencil notes and all.
Weeks 1-2: The law books, then the history books. I sat a while with Ruth, who'd lost her husband too. Some mornings I only read the page. I missed two days the second week and just picked up at the next one.
Weeks 3-6: Job, the Psalms and the prophets. I wrote more on the page those weeks, mostly prayers and things I remembered about Walt. On the Psalms page I wrote him one line: "I found your pencil marks."
Weeks 7-10: The Gospels, John and the resurrection, then Revelation and God's promise to dry every tear. Some mornings felt steadier. Others I missed Walt so much I could hardly pour the coffee, and I read the page anyway.
Small things added up. A check in the margin, a prayer in my own hand. By the end, breakfast didn't feel right without the page.
Somewhere in there the page stopped feeling like a chore. I'd take my cup to the table, turn to the next page, and start.
Nothing else changed. I still miss Walt every day, and some days are harder than others. Our Bibles and the guide still sit on the kitchen table.
Why nobody warns you how hard it is to read after a loss
I still think about this part when I'm doing the dishes:
After Walt passed, everybody told me to lean on the Word. I wanted to. I just couldn't find the front door to it.
If one short page in the morning sounds like somewhere you could start, that's all this is.
When did anybody last sit down at your table and show you where to begin? I think the last time for me was Vacation Bible School, around 1967.
Christians have turned to Scripture in sorrow for as long as there's been a church. For months, I couldn't sit still long enough to do it.
Some nights I'd sit on the edge of the bed with Walt's Bible in my lap and not know where to begin.
Here's what I use.
It's Saints Label's Bible Study Guide Journal, 66 pages with one for every book of the Bible. Each page tells you who wrote the book and why, what it shows you about God and one truth to hold onto. It takes about five minutes.
The people I know who have one keep at it. Lorraine is on her second time through, and there's ink on nearly every page of hers.
It's at saintslabel.com, which is where Lorraine gets the copies she hands out. Most folks I know first heard about it from a friend, the way I heard about it from Lorraine on the phone that evening in July.
Lorraine is dry about it: "Some mornings a body just needs somebody to hand her page one."
Why there's no wrong time to open your Bible again
Lorraine said this to me that first Tuesday:
"Grief keeps no schedule, and neither does this. Some days it's the page and the chapter. Some days just the page. Both count."
It takes almost no setting up.
You lay the guide by your Bible and read one page. That's the whole routine, and there's nothing to hunt for in the morning.
Then she said the part I needed to hear most: the Lord isn't keeping score of the mornings you miss.
If you skip a day, or even a week, you just open to the next page and start there. You don't have to catch up on anything.
Even that very first morning counted. Before the mail came, I'd done one thing on purpose, and I was a little proud of myself.
At a page a day, the whole guide takes about ten weeks, Genesis to Revelation, even with a few missed days like mine. There's no right pace, either. Some people start at Genesis and go in order. Others turn straight to whatever book their Sunday school class is reading.
Lorraine found her way back to reading the first winter after Earl. I started in July. Any morning is a fine one to start.
The morning after Lorraine came, I read the Genesis page, and that was enough for a start.
And honestly: a copy can be at your door in two or three weeks, and you can start the morning it comes.
What I'd tell you depends on whose table it's going on:
If you're the one grieving:
You can read just the page on mornings when a whole chapter feels like too much
You can miss a day or a whole week and pick up again at the next page
You'll have room to write prayers and memories of someone you've lost
It goes right alongside your Bible, your prayers and your church family
If you're buying it for someone:
It gives them something to hold when words run short
It keeps them company long after the funeral, when the casseroles stop coming
It comes gift-ready, so all you add is a note tucked inside the cover and maybe a hug
You can get one for yourself, too, and read along with them a page at a time
One thing I want to say plainly:
This guide is a companion. It sits beside prayer, your church family, your pastor and a grief counselor if you need one, and it replaces none of them. Read your page, then go to church on Sunday and let people love you.
You can start whenever you're ready, even today.
The guide is 66 pages, one for every book from Genesis to Revelation, in plain language you won't trip over. It works for reading by yourself and for small groups, too. I read mine alone, with Walt's chair across from me.
Five minutes and a cup of coffee is all it asks, and the coffee doesn't even have to be hot.
So I'll ask you what Lorraine asked me.
Just between us: Is your Bible open these days? And if it isn't, would you like it to be, even just a page at a time?
Saints Label has its Fall Sale on, and it covers a single copy as well as the bundles with spares to give away.
Lorraine set mine on the kitchen table on a Tuesday in July, next to a coffee cake still warm under foil.
Where I order mine, and why there's a spare in my closet
I order from Saints Label's own website, saintslabel.com, with my reading glasses on.
Here's what to expect: Orders are processed within 2 to 3 business days, and US delivery usually takes 7 to 11 business days. You get a tracking number by email when it ships.
Lorraine's one rule is to keep the guide with your Bible, wherever you sit to read. If a copy arrives damaged or something's off, they'll make it right, and there's a simple return process within the return window. Questions go to hello@saintslabel.com.
A woman in our Sunday school class gave one to her son-in-law after his father died. He keeps it in his truck.
I keep a spare on the hall closet shelf above the winter coats now, for the next friend who needs one. Lorraine taught me that. She says somebody always does.
The Fall Sale math is simple. One copy is $39.99. Buy 2, Get 1 Free means three copies for $79.98, and that's the one Lorraine bought. Buy 3, Get 2 Free means five copies for $119.97, and it's the only one with three free extras: a Guided Bible Study Plan, a Faith & Gratitude Journal and Bible Memory Verse Cards.
One page for every book of the Bible
Who wrote each book, when and why, the key themes, what it shows you about God, and one truth to hold onto, in about five minutes a page. 66 pages, Genesis to Revelation.
GET THE GUIDE →What readers are saying
Real reviews, word for word
“This guide completely changed how I study Scripture. The prompts keep me focused and help me actually apply what I read instead of rushing through chapters.”
“I actually understand Scripture now and apply it daily instead of just reading.”
“This journal helped me stay disciplined and focused during my quiet time.”
If your Bible's been closed a while, start with one page
For four months, Walt's Bible sat on my nightstand under the reading lamp, and I couldn't open it.
Danny's Sunday calls, me telling him I was fine. Devotionals piling up on the hall table, and the words sliding off every page I tried.
Then Lorraine at my door with a coffee cake. Peggy at Wednesday supper, asking where to start, and my spare copy out in the car. Peggy has it now.
One page with my morning coffee, and a little guide quietly pointing me back to God's Word every day, even on the days I miss Walt the most.
For a long while the grief decided whether I opened my Bible, and most mornings it said no. Without telling anybody, I'd stopped expecting to.
This morning it was the page for Ruth, my second time around. Walt's Bible and mine lay open side by side on the kitchen table, his pencil notes and my ink.
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