The Day My Pen Got Raptured
Not long after my daughter died, my friend Leon gave me a pen—a beautiful Montblanc, a pen I’d never buy for myself—and told me it was to write about Megan.
So the pen and I went to work in my journals. We wrote of grief, regret, and joy. We questioned God about her suffering; we thanked God for her life. Eventually, we began writing magazine articles about her.
And most recently the pen and I wrote a book. (I still prefer writing on a tablet before pulling out my Mac. Maybe it’s because my mind and my pen were linked.)
Rarely did I travel with the pen for fear of losing it. But I took it with me to Atlanta this weekend to work on final edits for the book, Megan’s Secrets, which is due to the publisher this week.
On the flight from Atlanta to DFW, I dropped it down the side of my seat. I saw where it went and began digging around looking for it. When I couldn’t find it in the seat, I pulled the seat cushion off. Nothing. Then I got in the aisle on all fours and looked all around to see if it rolled. This of course drew the attention of a flight attendant who offered to help. We looked until it became a distraction. I said, “I’ll wait until everyone deplanes and look then.”
So I waited until all other passengers were gone and then resumed looking. The flight attendant, who had seen the pen’s cap, returned and said, “I understand why you’re so concerned. A Montblanc!” That’s when I told the story: “It’s not that. A friend gave it to me when my daughter died to write about her. I’ve been doing that for fifteen years.” The next thing I know, three flight attendants were on their knees, fighting back tears, looking for my pen. Then the cleaning crew came onboard to prepare the jet for the next flight and heard the story. Now six people were all but dismantling the plane (and did disassemble my seat) looking for it.
But to no avail. The pen was gone. Is gone. Either God called it home or someone decided to borrow it. After twenty minutes of searching every nook and cranny, we finally had to admit that we wouldn’t find it.
So, thank you, my pen, my friend—for accompanying me through dark days. Thanks for suggesting words of hope. And thanks for staying with me until the writing assignment was finished.
I hope you’re in someone else’s hands now. Perhaps there was someone with fresh grief on our flight who needed you more.
Sorry for your loss…your daughter first and foremost. And the pen. But your perspective on both are a blessing to many.
Loved this story. I have a similar pen and tattered leather bound notebook. The scribbles of notes, sketches, and ideas are nearly cryptic. All written with one precious pen. It’s your lost coin. BTW—I design several books for Leafwood and ACU Press each year. I wish I had been assigned this project. All the best on this project.
Mike-
Josh talked about Megan today at OC. I was filled with so many great memories of her…and you and Diane and Matt and Chris. I am so sad for your pen. I know that somewhere tonight it has written a blog too and must be recounting all the wonderful emotions it has helped you express over the years…which in wonderful ways…has blessed all of us. I love you, dear friend.
BST
Mike, I have been thinking about sweet Megan lately, and some of the trials Diane and I would talk about when she was little, before she struggled with health. I can still see her running around getting into things:) Our paths haven’t crossed in a long time, however parts of the past enrich our present and our future. You and Diane are a part of that!
I understand your loss (I refused to buy a new billfold or use one of the several given me as gifts, even after my “old” one was rotting leather and rubber bands holding the contents together like a bad sandwich) but, Mike, you can write with a crayon on a Big Chief tablet and the words will inspire and challenge just as well. Still, I hope your special pen is found.
Mike,
I truly feel your pain. I bet I uttered, “Oh, No!” ten times while reading your piece. Chris probably thinks someone has just died. I understand the grief even over the pen. When my sister, Lana, died she left me many treaures. The three most important to me were her MANY emails over the years, some of her ashes in a tea set Limoges box that we picked out together, and a her very expensive custom made watch from Anthony’s in NY. When she gave me the watch she said, “Time is priceless, use it wisely.” Within weeks of her death, our computer crashed and we had it wiped without thinking anything of it…REGRET! My emails were not saved on her computer…words of wisdom gone forever. My Limoges box was the only one lost in the mail never to be seen again…sigh. I should have just worn the watch, but was so worried the crystal might get scratched, I removed it from my wrist. Concerned someone might break in and steal it, I decided to hide it in a pocket of a blazer. In walks Heather Abney to spend four weeks of her life with me after her time in Africa. She is a wonderful organizer and has always played the role of “dejunker” in my life. We weed through my closet and I take an armload of clothes to goodwill. I realize months later that the watch has gone, too. At first, I pray the watch will come back to me, but eventually surrender to praying that whoever has the watch will use their time wisely. God spoke to me in the quiet of my heart and confirmed it three times, I must have been holding on too tightly to the things of this world. Clinging to her instead of Him. Still, I am SO sad you lost your pen. I remember babysitting and teaching Meagan when she was two. Sweet and humorous memories.
I once lost a journal of …things I needed to write through. Sometimes I hope it wound up in a dumpster and wound up pulped into something new. Sometimes I hope it found the eyes of someone else with …things needing written through. There were still some blank pages to share.
Here is my blog post from 2004 that I linked to above:
I am a loser. Not as in “winners and losers.” But as in “finders and losers.”
I lose things.
I hate to point fingers here, but it seems to have been passed along to me by a maternal gene. But enough of that. If my mom wants to start her own blog and make her own confessions, that’s fine.
I spend so much of my time looking for things I’ve lost: my sermon notes, phone numbers, CDs, keys, glasses (a particularly hard item to look for!), my wallet, my pocketknife, and my cell phone. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to call my cell phone to find it. I wish I could call my wallet.
My current list of things I’ve lost: a Brueggemann book, notes for a message I’m supposed to give in late October, and my wedding ring.
I know the last item sounds alarming. But I’ve lost it so many times, we’ve learned to not be anxious. It always finds me. I’m Frodo.
To be honest, it isn’t THE ring. It isn’t the one my beloved slipped on my finger in May of 1978. That one is long gone. I think this is the second ring; Diane believes it is the third. In some ways (given my history), it’s amazing that I’ve had this one 17 years. And the one before it was stolen from a locker in the men’s faculty dressing room at Harding (not by a faculty member, obviously).
It isn’t that I’m unorganized. I just set things down with my mind already giving full attention to something else.
The most grievous thing I’ve lost (and I hate to say this after mentioning that I lost a wedding ring) is my NIV Bible that I’d had from seminary days until about 1996. I searched forever for that beloved book.
The one I now have, I’ve held onto since then. I’ve tried to lose it, but each time it has returned. I’ve had to call a rental agency in Memphis and a church on the West Coast. But both times, it was FOUND!
What a great thing it is to find something. I’m guessing that my life has had bursts of joy that many of you have never known because you don’t lose things. Nearly every week there is some moment of ecstasy when I realize that something I thought might be gone for good is still around.
Everyone loves the story of the lost sheep and the lost son. But I have a special appreciation for Jesus’ story tucked in between those two better-known ones: the parable of the lost coin. “And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.’”
That’s good news.
Mike,
I was a Harding student from 1988 to 1992. I remember Megan. I remember admiring you and your wife as you dealt with her difficulties so patiently while working hard at being a minister. I was saddened several years ago to hear of your loss. I am glad to hear that your journey of grief has brought you to finish your book. I look forward to reading it. I am sure it will be inspirational. Your comments on the joy of finding lost things has left meaning in my life. I feel I have lost so many things lately, some I can’t even identify. We are always blessed when a public person shares private grief. Thank you. And God bless.
Lisa
Mike,
I remember your precious Megan- you let me babysit her once when I had a child-development course at Harding. Even though she’d not met me before that evening, she climbed up in my arms and let me hold her- in fact, she held me, with surprising strength. You wouldn’t remember me, but I always appreciated the grace you and your family shared with me that evening. And now.
Sharon
I have that same pen. I treasure mine too.
Your story may make me use it more. It was a gift from my daughter.
Mike and Diane, I have always loved the stories of Megan, and the sweet love you gave her. I remember she was an infant when you brought her to our house for a party, and we watched as you realized her special qualities that would allow her to bless many people through you both. And I honor you that you honored God in sharing her life with others. Only when we get to heaven will we know completly the devine plan that God has for each of us, but with a special child it is more obvious as the purity of their little hearts can reach the deep spirit of others. Next month our Candace will be 47 years old, and oh how she sends out pure love to others. Our oldest granddaughter has started a book about Candacce and her Candace’isms, and they need to be shared, as she has been a joy to our family and friends. Thanks for sharing about the pen; one more time Megan touches lives.
Oh Mike…I’m sorry about the loss of the pen, but thanks for sharing the story. Your love for Megan just continues on and on, in so many different ways…in a book that thousands of people will read and in a frantic search with six strangers on a plane. And I think you should incl this story in the epilogue of your book!
Mike
I just looked at the picture of the little boy afraid of the white man. I will be praying that He will be found. He reminds me of the children I helped treat in Zambia on medical missions. They too had been told we would steal them or hurt them by the witch doctor. But we were allowed to treat them by desperate parents who put their child’s chances for care above the rantings of the witch doctors. There are too too many children in Africa and many other places who don’t have anyone seeking to rescue them from those who would hurt them. Of course it is overwhelming but it is the trying that matters. I think that is from Ghandi. So blessings on all those who continue to try.
Didn’t know what I would find when I clicked the title here, Mike. But, I knew it would be something special. I cried & smiled as I’m sure you did at the time it was happening.
I like what Jana said above: ["Your love for Megan just continues on and on, in so many different ways…in a book that thousands of people will read and in a frantic search with six strangers on a plane.]
…hey, whatcha gonna do with all those Montblancs that may appear in your mailbox?
Blessings always~ Mel
Mike,
I have a Montblanc that I was given as a gift for doing a wedding. I have only used it to sign marriage licenses since. The sad thing is the couple I did the wedding for are now divorced. Does that mean that all MontBlanc pens have pain attached to them? I would suggest, or I guess I should say, would have suggested getting all the names of those who searched for you. There must be a reason God brought you all together.
Anyway, this is a great post. Hope to see you in Malibu.
Peace.
Steve
“It isn’t that I’m unorganized. I just set things down with my mind already giving full attention to something else.” As another who sometimes looses things, I like that quote. I do find however if I can make a habit of usually putting something in the same place I loose it less often.