Something I've noticed

Lately I've noticed that if there is a pen nearby, somewhere within my reach, I cannot help but pick it up.

It is like my hand doesn't feel complete without the addition of the creative freedom a pen allows.

It is if God shaped my hand perfect for the pen to be inserted into.

In fact I bet He did.

For it is when I grasp my familiar friend I feel at home, it is when my muscles relax and my mind finds rest.

And it is when I can hear God's voice the clearest.

Or maybe it is when I really take the time to listen.

He made someone who needs to write, someone who has had writing "spread its roots into the very depths of [my] heart" (Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet) 

And thus my hand searches for the warmth a pen brings, for its ability to inspire life itself.