A Puddle of Ink

I saw myself as a puddle of ink on the ground—a puddle of tears accomplishing nothing except maybe to leave a stain.

Limp, purposeless, stationary.

My ink was a beautiful blue-black that shimmered in the light, but it was only full of potential.

Useful but unused.

Jesus stopped to gather some of me—some of the dark ink—and He put me in a beautiful white pen with gold accents.

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He uses the pen to write His words for the world to read, with the ink that is me.

On my own, I am only a puddle of potential—a puddle of valuable ink. But with His pen transforming my ink into words, I become a blessing to many.

I feel the value of my substance.

As He uses my ink for His words, He pours more ink into me.

He restores my soul.

I am not a useless puddle of ink. I am a blessing of words.

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“‘What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived’— the things God has prepared for those who love him— these are the things God has revealed to us by his Spirit.”

I Cor. 2:9-10 (NIV)