Every so often my pens effect an escape from my purse. On those occasions when collection time rolls around at church, I reach for my checkbook, but can’t find a pen. I end up scrounging whatever small loose cash I have to put in the basket.
It always makes me think of the widow’s mite. However I am not giving from monetary want, but from want of having-it-togetherness. It’s a kind of poverty too. I get so frustrated with myself, but it’s an opportunity to learn to be humble. And to chain a pen to my person.