An Ode to Paper and Ink

Every once in a while, when I am strolling along mindlessly, I'll catch myself wondering what my life would be like without paper and ink... And every time this occurs, I freeze in fear, shudder in terror, shake my head in denial, and push away such dark thoughts!

For I cannot imagine my life without the simple joys of paper and ink. 

Don't get me wrong... computers have their place (for work and social networking and blogging). Kindles are great for travel (when you can only take a carry-on). iPhones are brilliant, Siri is a jewel, and 'Notes' is a lifesaver when you run out of old receipts to write on.

But there is something about the combination of ink on paper, that makes me feel my life. 

I engage more with what I'm thinking and what I'm trying to say, when I write it down with my own hand, in my own handwriting, and leave a mark on a sheet of paper - paper which used to be a tree, which was planted in soil, which was enriched by the same sunshine and air and rain that keeps my own life sustained. It just feels so much richer to me... hence, tonight's ode.

- - - 

I've gotten a ton of fantastic Christmas and birthday presents throughout the years, but I definitely have a 'Top Three' that stand out when I look back:

1.  My very own set of luggage, when I first started traveling on my own as a singer/songwriter... such symbolism, in Samsonite.

2.  A check written out to me in my grandmother's handwriting, a couple days before she went to be with the Lord. 

3.  A collection of 96 gel pens, in 96 different colors, in a clear carrying case, with a handle.

I am a very blessed girl, to be so fully known and loved by the givers of these gifts. And the 96 gel pens? I got that set several years ago, and to this day, I grab a new color every few weeks and heaven comes down to my little earth. It's even better than Crayola - and trust me, that is saying something.

To write... what a glory. It requires one to engage with their own handwriting, their notations, their marks... it lacks intuitive programming, and relies solely on the writer's own personality, knowledge, and interpretation of what needs to be written and how it needs to be shown and said. There are no spellchecks or auto-corrections in the world of ink and paper... just the precarious permanence of the written word, and the beauty of an ink smudge on one's finger. 

- - - 

And then... there is the issue of books. Books Books BOOKS. The printed word, brought to you by paper and ink. A whole world of its own, wholly dependent upon the objects of this ode. And all the little details of that world...

The way the pages feel under my fingers - the shiny pages versus the matte pages, the thick pages versus the Bible-thin pages. The way they smell when they are new, and the way they smell when they are old. They way they look on shelves, on nightstands, on coffee-tables... in large quantities, small quantities, any quantity at all except for zero, please. 

And to think, that if not for paper and ink, there would be no books. Perish the thought. 

- - -

Ink upon paper... paper and ink. Scribbles and what-nots, captured and marked down... a rarity, never to be adequately replaced or substituted. Romantic, ancient, nostalgic, personal... one of the sweetest joys of my life. 

And as I write my grocery list tonight on a piece of faded yellow scrap paper, I find myself thinking this thought:

It's a small thing - perhaps a nerdy, or a cheesy thing - but in the simplicity of this act, I acknowledge that I am happy and thankful for a God who understands and fully endorses the power, the beauty, and the magic of the written word upon my heart and my soul. Somehow, in a way I will never understand or be able to express in an earthly ode, He continues to inspire me closer to Himself - 

Through the romance of paper and ink.