The Pen
The Master made a beautiful pen and kept it safe, deep inside His pocket. He used it to write personal letters to the ones He loves. Though the pen was tucked away, she could still hear the voices from the outside world. It was hard for her to block them out and they would often influence her thinking. Because she wrestled with these voices, she became restless in the Master’s Hand whenever He picked her up to write. She would resist His leading and push against Him to write something different than what the Master desired to pen through her.
The Master was aware of her resistance and spoke kindly to the pen. “Do you know who you are, my dear?”
She thought it was a trick question. “A pen, of course.”
“Yes, but do you know what kind of pen?”
“I suppose, one that writes.” she answered.
“Well, yes.” He chuckled. “But do you know what you’re made of?”
She paused and looked up at Him. “I have no idea.”
“My dear,” He said, lifting her gently, “you were crafted out of the wood from the tall Tree that is in the center of my Kingdom. And do you know what kind of ink I have filled you with?”
Again, she could not answer, realizing she really didn’t know who she was.
So, He continued. “Your ink, my love, is a mixture of the Blood and Water from my River that runs throughout my Kingdom and gives Life to everything. They work together to cleanse, renew, and refresh everything they touch. My dear, you are no ordinary pen. You are the King’s Pen. You are mine. When I lift you to pen my thoughts, I am lifting the one I made and filled with my very Life. You were not created to pen the world’s thoughts. So pay no mind to the voices you hear from outside my Pocket. You are reserved for my Purposes - holy purposes. So don’t be afraid to rest in My Hand. There is no need to resist or be restless. For when I speak through you, you are doing exactly what I’ve crafted you to do.”
The Master was aware of her resistance and spoke kindly to the pen. “Do you know who you are, my dear?”
She thought it was a trick question. “A pen, of course.”
“Yes, but do you know what kind of pen?”
“I suppose, one that writes.” she answered.
“Well, yes.” He chuckled. “But do you know what you’re made of?”
She paused and looked up at Him. “I have no idea.”
“My dear,” He said, lifting her gently, “you were crafted out of the wood from the tall Tree that is in the center of my Kingdom. And do you know what kind of ink I have filled you with?”
Again, she could not answer, realizing she really didn’t know who she was.
So, He continued. “Your ink, my love, is a mixture of the Blood and Water from my River that runs throughout my Kingdom and gives Life to everything. They work together to cleanse, renew, and refresh everything they touch. My dear, you are no ordinary pen. You are the King’s Pen. You are mine. When I lift you to pen my thoughts, I am lifting the one I made and filled with my very Life. You were not created to pen the world’s thoughts. So pay no mind to the voices you hear from outside my Pocket. You are reserved for my Purposes - holy purposes. So don’t be afraid to rest in My Hand. There is no need to resist or be restless. For when I speak through you, you are doing exactly what I’ve crafted you to do.”
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