I Am a Pen

Right now I am writing. Given it is math homework which I have much disdain towards, but still, I am writing. I am using a red pen, which on the outside says "The Summit. 920 Roosevelt Ave. Enumclaw, WA, 98022. 360-825-7111." Black ink. As I use this pen, I keep looking at it, analyzing it. I see that there is a spot where it is cracked up the side. There are scratches, and places where the red has faded. Falling apart with every stroke of my hand it seems. Me having to readjust it as the hollow body continues to separate from the spine, or the soul of the pen. I look at this pen, and I see how I resemble it so much. I am but this petty person, the price of a pen if you will. I am falling apart. Spiritually, physically, and emotionally. I am cracked, and scratched up, just as this pen is. I have messed up, and God keeps readjusting me, just as I readjust this pen. With every step on this path with God I seem to be falling apart a little bit more. But yet, He is my glue. Just as one day I will have to glue this pen. I enjoy writing with this pen. It is nothing special to anyone else, but I almost love this pen in an odd way. Just as God loves me. I am nothing special. Worthy of no praise. But yet He loves me. God's love is neverending. Every time when I deny Him, he keeps fixing me, making me better than I was before. I am nothing but a pen. God is holding me, writing out the plan for my life as it has been planned since the beginning of time. All I can do is follow where His hand takes me. Letting Him change me as I fall apart. Just as the pen would.


P.S. My blog is yet again, pointless.