p.s. it's easter

At first nothing came to me. Pencil and paper in hand, the metaphor was too obvious. That we had heard about God being the author and finisher of our story and now were given pieces of paper to write in, gave me no imagination. I drew pictures instead. Mine became a picture book. It had scenes and sights, marvellous things. Literally it was a picture book, maybe even a pop-up. I folded the sheet kind of funny, so it shaped like some sort of room. Going with God’s authorship and what it means to me, it took until after my turn in our 4-pronged discussion group that I let it come more direct to my heart. The things in my morning devotion revisited my fore-mind. I began to share with Brian (he was egging me to tell it as it is for me) and the music swelled too loud.

Something the leaders on stage did not consciously speak, is that with God we are co-writers. By giving us the paper they assumed this, otherwise were we to sit there with our given pencils rolling in our hands and let God write? As I thought about it more, the imagery poured out from my heart. Eraser. My brothers took theirs later on and played with it. God took his and showed mercy with it. Some things I could not erase were left with paper shreds surrounding scrubbing attempts. Where my fonts were too plain to catch any attention, He improvised my lettering and added extensive cursive elements, bestowing grace. I remember when I was learning to write Chinese. Sitting at the kitchen table I would be writing “person”, or “day”, or merely repeating particular strokes in those practice grids. Maybe my motor skills were still fine-tuning, but for whatever reason my mother would help me. Coming around, she would be behind me, and take my hand in hers. Hand clasping hand clasping pencil, we would co-write.