Praying in Pencil

I think better in pencil.  I always have.  While pens are preferable for writing letters or taking notes at meetings or even writing grocery lists, when it comes to creative endeavors, such as outlining a story or imagining some dialogue I’ve not yet plugged into a scene or trying to figure out a timeline within the narrative story arc, I find I do it best with pencil.  I think it’s because a pen is so permanent—so set, so unchangeable without crossing something out and leaving a big, inky scar on the page.  Graphite, on the other hand, is more of a suggestion, a placeholder for our thoughts that can be erased and written over if a better idea comes along.

It occurs to me that our prayer life can be the same way.  Too often, I think, we approach God with prayers written in pen:  dark, inky statements that sink and bleed into the fibers of the paper—unchangeable and inflexible . . . at least, not without having to endure some cross-outs.

But if we approach our prayer life with a pencil (a soft lead that leaves a bold, confident line is absolutely fine), I think we are getting closer to the heart of prayer.  We are allowing God, “the author and perfector (or editor) of our faith,” the opportunity to erase and recraft them in a far gentler and much more pleasing manner.  As Stephen Crotts once wrote: “God has editing rights over our prayers. He will . . . edit them, correct them, bring them in line with His will and then hand them back to us to be resubmitted.”

The pen may be mightier than the sword, but the pencil-written prayer is greater than them both.