Something terrible happened this week. Something just awful, but I can't say it's the first time this thing has happened to me before. You'd think since I've faced this exact trauma that I'd have been a little better prepared for it, but I wasn't. It was in fact worse than the first time.
This week, I lost my pen.
This pen was my favorite pen, I use it to write in the margins of my bible because of its bold color and convenient clip on the lid that keeps it secured to my bible. They're hardly ever separated. I was in Denver this week and when I pulled my bible out of my bag, this pen loosened and fell onto the bed as I lay my bible there. We left and when I came back I couldn't find my pen anywhere. I freaked. I'm a writer and what pen I use is one of the only things I have control of in my life.
I asked my roommates if they had seen it and one of them asked if it was the pen I use with my bible, "You've had that pen forever! I'm sorry I haven't seen it, that sucks." She knew how much that pen meant to me, she could've just thought I was being irrational, but that came much later. I would be taking naps and wake up and start moving furniture. I unfolded all of my clothes, searched though the bed sheets--but no pen. I asked my roommates all week, nothing, nowhere. I'm pretty sure they thought I was crazy.
I've lost my favorite pen before, but 2 hours later I had found it, that pen has since then ran out of ink, so this three day search for this young, full-of-ink pen was exasperating.
I got desperate. I wrote a note to the maids asking if they had seen it. We went to a session and when I got back, there was the pen. Right there on my bed. I wanted to go find the maid and hug her--even though there was a 90% chance she stole it...but who cares because my pen was back! I wish I could say I'm exaggerating, but I really got this excited about a pen.
I thought about that. I thought about how ridiculous I had been acting to receive that much joy over finding a missing pen.
Luke 15 came to mind. "If I got this excited about a pen coming back into my hands, imagine how pleased God is when a soul comes running into His arms."
Then I looked at this pen. I thought about how it has bled through every page I have ever used it to write on. I thought about how the ink expands, keeping me from writing small enough to actually fit in the margins. I was reminded of the explosion that happened in Ephesians 2--yes, in that passage, but on my page in my own bible. My pen exploded and there is left a huge ink stain on those pages. I didn't choose to use this pen because it was perfect, I chose to use this pen because I wanted to.
I leave ink stains among God's holy scripture all the time, yet He keeps me. He bandages me up and keeps using me.
Sometimes I see people and think, Oh, she's too pretty, there's no way she's a believer. or He's already a star athlete, why does he deserve the gospel too, on top of all that goodness? If we were to sit and talk about all we deserve, the list would be pretty short, in fact only one thing would be on it: death. Christ desires something else for us. If I believe I'm not good enough for it, I believe Jesus' sacrifice on the cross wasn't enough. If I keep the Good News of Jesus Christ from the pretty people, the successful people or whomever, if I think the lost are just fine without it, by doing that I'm saying that Jesus' death on the cross wasn't all that much. Why would I ever deprive myself or others of the fulfillment of knowing Christ?
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