Wanting to capture the emotions and lessons from tonight, I grabbed my trusty pen – my green filled ‘Stylo’ – my favourite fountain pen.
Suddenly I remember the last time I had held it in my hand, to jot an idea or two down, it literally had scratched the paper for it was out of ink.
Too tired or too lazy to refill it or maybe my ideas had run as dry as the pen – it was left there inkless.
But tonight, I had need of it – there were words, His Word to record—life-changing phrases and memories to capture so as to later recount them to a soul or two.
But first I would need a visit to the well. My ink well. It’s green since it’s one of my two favourite colours. My other ink is red and seems too harsh for these words. Red is used to correct. Green means go, it reminds us of nature – Green nurtures and encourages growth. Green is good.
Carefully twisting the barrel to reveal the empty cartridge, I plunge the thirsty nib into the green liquid. Submerging it in the well, I pull the plunger to replenish the ink and giving my pen a new life; suddenly, I am struck by an image.
How like an ink pen, am I?
In the hands of a masterful artist each day, I glide through my life – moving here and there – pausing and continuing, allowing The Master to choose the path, the purpose. At times it is smooth and others abrupt. At times I comprehend and others I do not.
Regardless of the motion, there is intention, and when I submit to it – His purpose is revealed. What an adventure it can be!
Then looking back, I see the marks left behind. They tell my journey, His story. They can be filled with laughter or, at times, streaked with tears, but either way, they are beautiful and all because I allowed The Master to fill me at the well.
So dear writers, brothers, sisters, friends
Come to the well.