I like to think that God writes our stories in script.
One weekend during the second grade, I wound up at my elementary school.
My friend, Nicole, had been sick for a few days, so her Mom and I went to the front office to pick up her missed classwork.
Due to the irrational fear of being trapped by every teacher in the school and forced to do multiplication problems on a Saturday, I felt pretty uneasy about being there.
But, with time to spare, we picked up the workbooks and headed for the door.
“Alexis, is that you?”
The voice was all too familiar…
As I turned around, my Tweety Bird glasses were greeted with a pink marbled notebook and a teacher who revered me.
She was the first teacher who ever made me feel smart.
In fact, on numerous occasions she would brag about my ability to jump ahead to third grade if I wanted to.
Nevertheless, seeing your teacher on the weekend is basically every kid’s worst nightmare.
“I’m so glad you’re here, I want you to take your cursive notebook home and practice your z’s and q’s this weekend, they look a little sloppy.”
I like to think my rose rimmed glasses hid the glare of offense and shock I must have given her.
How could she be so nonchalant about this?
My 2nd grade career was over. The high horse I once sat on bucked me off.
I replayed the countless times Ms. Carol’s eyes welled with overwhelming approval for my accomplishments, yet there she was telling me to go over something I thought I already mastered.
I half smiled at her, took the book and walked away.
I will not practice my z’s and q’s this weekend. I don’t care what she thinks; I’m not doing it.
I stared at that notebook all weekend. Every time I glanced over at it, my pride yelled “Ha, as if. I can write circles around those amateurs in class. I don’t need practice.”
I like to think God writes our stories in script.
Because like Him, script takes time. It takes effort. It takes attention to detail.
Ms. Carol knew that.
She knew that if I would just sit down and spend a little more time, put in a little more effort and pay a little more attention to what I was doing, I could do something great.
The 2nd grade me would never admit this, but we could all stand to have a few more pink marbled notebooks shoved in our faces.
Because when God hands us that notebook and says, “Here, keep practicing,” He’s doing it for us.
He hands us these notebooks as tokens. So that one day down the road when we feel discouraged or frustrated, when we’re too tired to dot our i’s and cross our t’s, we can go through our stack, open one up and look at how beautiful our hand writing has become. We can see how with each detail He asked us to pay attention to, He used that great big pen of his to create something worth reading. Despite how tedious or ridiculous or boring our tasks may seem at the time, they are the letters that form the words which will contribute to a greater story.
God delights in making sure that not one drop of ink goes to waste, not one detail is missed and that our pink marbled notebooks will reveal what we truly are, a masterpiece.