History was written on His face – not old – but ancient,
The lines on His face told a tale older than time,
He was the Keeper.
Entering the room, lined with shelves that were stacked with volumes of books,
His calloused and beautiful hands gently caressed the bindings of those stories,
Eyes passing gently over each one, He knew them in detail.
He then stopped and I heard Him say, “Now, it’s time for you.”
Reaching a hand into a pocket on the front of His coat right next to His heart
He took out a book and in it
Was the story of me.
Pulling out a chair, He sat down
And rested this poorly written piece on a table and then opened to chapter one.
His attention was fixed on the pages as He started to turn
The book was worn and old, pages stained and sad.
“Who will read such a sad tale?” I called from the back of the room
“No one has wanted it, no one has cared.”
“I’m reading,” said the Keeper, “Come, let’s read together,
Take time to see what your book says.”
I sat with Him and we flipped through the pages one by one,
I felt ashamed He would read the words that were written there.
His tears began to flow freely and fell on the pages as we read –
But a smile crossed His face each time
My name was written there.
The print was faded, the letters had smeared
But He understood each word.
Lifting His head, His tears mingling with His smile,
The same beautiful hand that had touched
Those wonderfully written books on the shelf
Reached to wipe from my face
Tears from the hurts of lost time.
As the pages came to an end, there was no happy ending
No fairy tale magic or magic rescue,
There was only sadness and loss.
I dared to turn toward Him and asked,
“Why take all this time for me?
There’s no way to rewrite history!”
Eyes that read into the depths of my soul
Reached into the darkness of my story and saw beyond my pain,
He drew me to His words as He spoke and said,
“But you are wrong dear one,” His voice as gentle as the morning sun,
“I am the Keeper and I’ve kept something for you.”
He then opened a drawer in his table and pulled from there
A new pen and inkwell –
And began again at chapter one.
On those pages of my book He wrote words fresh and new
The volume came to life on pages inscribed in my heart.
Dipping His pen in red ink each time He wrote a phrase
The blood of the Keeper’s Son would never fade!
And as He wrote, He said “Without doubt,
I am the Author and I’m changing your story
I have a new plot in mind.
Won’t you stay here with Me a while?”
The stained pages blew away with one stroke of the pen
And when He was done I said,
“How wonderful! Will my story be together
With all those marvelous books on Your shelf?”
“No, My child,” said the Keeper, “This story is special – I will keep it with Me.”
And He returned the book to the front pocket in His coat
Close to His heart and said,
“Yours is My favorite to read,
Won’t you let it stay with Me?”
In the volumes of Your book, it is written of me.
6 February 2013