“Well,” she concluded, “No one said that the first draft had to be perfect; I’ll just write about the fun stuff first...the rest will somehow fall into place, and in the end I’m sure it’ll still be okay. Because I will be the one living the story, I’ll make it turn out just right.”

For the first few pages it was fun; she filled the white paper with romantic scenes, and tender moments...just like all the fairy tale stories that she had heard as a little girl. But soon, things took a turn. Not only did she begin to rethink what she had written, but she continually met up with problems, difficult decisions, and unanswered questions. Each time that she went back to change something, the eraser simply caused dark smudges to ruin her once-pure-white-sheet-of-paper; scribbled handwriting made it difficult to read, poor grammar caused the sentences to be sloppy, and inexperienced writing created many loose strings, confusing schemes, and flimsy dialogue. Not only was it getting worse as she went on, but her pages looked terrible.

As the pen slipped from her cramped and tired fingers, she dropped her throbbing head into her hands. “Why is this so difficult?” she moaned. “Why is it so hard to figure out my love story? It seems so easy for everyone else!”

She was out of answers, her pages were badly soiled, and her once-inspired-ideas had turned into a mess of muddled thoughts.  She felt tired from trying to figure it all out on her own; worried, because time had slowly slipped away, and she was behind; confused, as to what she should do next, and nervous, because no doubt her friends were leaving her in the dust in finding their own prince charmings.

This was the answer she’d been searching for.  She knew He was her only hope.; the only one who could truly write something beautiful on her behalf.  Half-fearing and half-trusting, she sank to her knees.  "I’m ready," she whispered softly, "I’m ready to give you my pen."

In the next instant, she was suddenly standing in His presence. He was surrounded by glorious beams of light; everything near Him seemed to sparkle and dazzle in existence. His desk was like none she had ever seen: strong, tall, sturdy...it was obvious the most remarkable craftsmanship had been put into the piece. In His hand, He held a pen that shone with the color of gold; by His side was a neatly stacked pile of paper that was a pure, incredible white of the utmost quality. Suddenly, she remembered her own, soiled stack of papers. Ashamed, she slowly hid them behind her back. It was then that He looked up and saw her.

"You came." His voice was warm, soft, inviting – and yet strong and powerful.

She nodded, then swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to explain. "I would have come sooner - really. I just...well, thought that I could do a better job myself." She ducked her head, realizing how foolish it sounded.

His smile was kind. "And could you?"

Reluctantly, yet trusting His words, she withheld the desire to see the ending page. " I promise." She vowed, both to herself and to Him. "I promise to wait until it’s ready to happen...until the story is ready to unfold."

It was hard waiting; at times the urge to read the last chapter was so strong that she could hardly resist it; and yet each time that happened, she would again go to the Author; visits with Him always put things in perspective. He often reminded her of how He designed each person’s story differently, and that the wait would be worth it.

"It’s like a rose bud," He explained. "In order for you to enjoy it in full bloom, you mustn’t pry it out of the leaves that are tightly wrapped around it. You must nurture, keep, and protect it until it is ready to bloom in full."

She shook her head slowly. "It was so confusing, tiring, and worrisome....not at all like I thought it would be..."

He nodded in understanding. "The reason it didn’t come naturally for you, is because you were not meant to write it."

"I don’t know what I was thinking...could You...would You...write my love story - the way that You meant it to be?"

His gentle eyes crinkled as His mouth broadened into a smile. "For a long time, I’ve waited to hear those words. Do you mean them?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then you must first hand the pen to Me."

Stepping forward, she gave both her pen and soiled papers to the Author; the instant the once-dead-pen touched His hand, it immediately came to life. While once dark, it now glistened with gold; where it was once soiled, it was now clean. The grimy papers were set aside, and replaced with pure white paper, from the stack beside Him. Her eyes widened in amazement.  Never had she seen anything so spectacular.

"Take a seat," He invited. "I’ll get to work right away,"

Taking the given chair - she prepared for the long wait. All was silent, minus the sound of the scratching pen. As she watched, she was astonished at the many pages that quickly were filled, and yet His neatly arranged stack never diminished. At last, she heard the words that she had waited so long to hear:

"It’s finished."

Excitement instantly brought her to her feet; she gazed fondly at the priceless book that lay in her arms. She suddenly felt the urge to see how her story would turn out, and began to flip to the last page.

As if reading her mind, He quickly explained, "Please refrain yourself from reading the last page just now."

Her hand stopped, as she looked up in surprise.

He continued. "There are many, many pages to be read, and for the story to end the way that I planned it to, you must read one page at a time...in the order that I wrote them. If you try to skip some, you’ll miss out on the beautiful story that I’ve created just for you."

“How - where - should I start? I’ve run out of clean paper, my pen is dry, and nothing that I write matches up with a perfect love story - is there even such a thing? Wouldn’t it be better to settle for less, rather then nothing at all?” Lifting her eyes upward, she said aloud, "Who could possibly write my love story better than I could  If I can’t do it – can anyone?"

At that moment, her mind went back to a letter that she had received many years ago. It had been years since she had read it, never before had it seemed important, but now it seemed essential. Jumping to her feet, she began to recklessly rummaged through her desk, searching for the missing letter. As her eye landed on the worn piece of paper, she hastily read its contents:

REBECCA WENGER

“I’m fifteen, soon to be sixteen, and strive to live as my Prince Jesus did. About the beginning of this year, my life was totally impacted and my spiritual walk was revived through Leslie's book "Set-Apart Femininity". I can't begin to explain how much deeper my relationship with Jesus is - each day is a new adventure.

I am also home schooled, and love the fact that I spend most of my time with my family; my siblings are truly my very best friends! My hobbies/interests include writing, reading, sign language, nutrition, reflexology, children, singing, cooking/baking, working in the garden, etc.

As I continue my walk through life, my hope and my prayer is to "show people Jesus".”

A BIT ABOUT the AUTHOR:

warm rays of sunshine  .  a child’s giggle  .  a crisp apple  .  the crack of thunder 

      the words “I love you”  .  the sound of a galloping horse  .  warm homemade pizza

                                          early morning moments with my Prince  .  daisies