Waiting for my laptop to boot and enjoying the feel of a very full stomach aftwr eating a hefty lunch of katsudons and the endless cabbage, my eyes landed on this pen. In my mind, my hand swiftly picks it up and my mind started to look for any blank sheets of paper to write into. Any piece. Any size. Post its. Anything incan scribble on. I can write a lot of things with that pen.
In my head, i have written plays, screen plays, poems, sonnets, essays, everything…
In my mind….
We all have that one page in our book we simply can’t just flip over to start the new chapter. The end of each chapter doesn’t mean the story in that chapter ended already. It is just put on hold for the sake of suspense or emphasis. To hang on questions like,
1.) What happens next?
2.) That’s it?
Sometimes we even want to take the pencil and rewrite some things so the next chapters would be favorable.
Truth is, none of those previous chapters were written in pencil but in ink. There is no other way to “fix” the story but to flip the page on to the next chapter and hope for the best.
Human as we are, we will probably still stumble, hurt, make wrong judgments, and recall few chapters back, “what if…”.
“Had i …”
“Was that dream just a mere play of my subconscious or was it a message?”
Until the Author closes the book, we have everyday graces to contribute to a better story – ours and our other co-contributors
Until the Author closes the book, we can treat crimson scars as intro to a colorful ending the Author had in mind the moment we were woven in the womb.
Until the Author closes the book, we are yet to see better and better days of seeing His favor.
Until the Author closes the book, go flip forward and bathe in the warmth of His loving pen strokes as He slowly delivers you and raises you proudly.