The Author

He picks me up
A pen ready for use
So light in his hand
I am a feather

Without his hand I am lost
Caught on the winds
That blow through my life
At their whim I drift, spin, settle
Spin away and settle again
Then whisked away out of control

But the Author picks me up
Even though I’m shaking
From my last wild journey
I’m so light His hand
But He knows just how to handle me

Carefully I’m dipped
Into His Ink
Just long enough to savour the taste
The smell
The colour
The Ink seeps up my veins

The Author gently lifts me out
Of His love
He needs me to spread His word
His gentle strokes move me across the pages of life
His Ink leaving His message of love

Often it scratches, almost hurts
But my Author will not let me break
With gentle movements I write across the page
Until I am dry
When I struggle to remember His love
And I ask to be filled again

I cannot fully know the words I have written
Or their place on the page
But when I join my Author
When my work is done
I will look back at it all with Him
All I have written with Him and for Him


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