I impatiently tapped the desk with my pencil, chin in hand, elbow resting against the desk, as another tear slid off my nose and onto the paper. I was DEEP into the journal now. How many times had I scratched out a sentence and tried to start over? But where I'd taken my story was not working... I kept getting hurt and kept hurting others. And the more I tried to fix it, the more sentences I scratched out till the whole thing was just a mess.
"I'm still waiting," I heard Him whisper.
I sighed, "Okay... I'm sorry... I'm SO sorry. Please, is there any way to fix what I've done?"
No response.
"Lord?" I whispered, desperate.
No reply.
I reached to wipe my tears and found that my face was already dry. I looked down at my journal, expecting to find my screwed-up story. Instead, I found it open on the first page. It was blank, and the pen was gone. I smiled.
He had taken it.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
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