It was a beautiful Sunday morning in late summer as we drove down the road, heading toward church.
My four-year-old son, Caleb (he’s in his 20s now), called out from the back seat, “Dad, I need a pencil!”,
“You need a what?”, I asked. “A pencil”, he replied. “Why do you need a pencil?” I asked.
“So I can save the code, I just beat the level!” he said with a slightly frantic and excited tone in his voice.
I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that he had the Game Boy in his hand, the screen indicating he had conquered the level.
As a reward for conquering the level, he had been given ‘the code’. The code would allow him access to the next level without requiring him to start from the beginning.
I looked down on the floor beside the driver’s seat, and there I spotted a blue and white Bic mechanical pencil. I reached down and grabbed the pencil.
Looking at the end, I saw there was no lead extruding from the bottom of the pencil. I pressed on the pencil, hearing the familiar click, click, click.
I turned the pencil over and stared at the empty hole; still no lead. Click, click, click.
I looked once again, empty. Click, click, click, click, click, click, click—same result.
Eying the glovebox, I have renewed hope.
There are always pencils in the glovebox. I tell my oldest son, Bryon, who is sitting beside me, “Quick, look in the glovebox to see if there is a pencil in there.”
He opens it up, fumbles around for a few seconds, and then pulls out a dark blue Air Force pencil with silver lettering – the only pencil in the glovebox.
It’s perfect; completely unmarred, full eraser, 7.5 inches, without a scratch or dent.
It’s full of lead, and yet, perfectly disappointing.
The problem was that it had no point. It had all the potential in the world, but without a point, it was unable to fulfill the purpose for which it was designed and created.
I don’t know how a 30-second search for a pencil translated into a simple yet profound truth that left me contemplating deeply.
Here is what I came away with.
As I walk through life, I don’t want to be like a pencil with no point — pristine, full of potential, containing everything needed to be successful, but useless without a point.
For a pencil, this means pictures not sketched, doodles not drawn, and problems not solved.
In our lives, the consequences can be far greater, ultimately leading to a life of regret and disappointment when looking back.
Enduring teeth marks from stressful times, along with uneven wear from mistakes being corrected, is part of the process.
Forming a point is not always pleasant. For a pencil, it involves being placed in a dark hole and being pushed with just the right amount of force.
Cutting, grinding edges swirl around, stripping away the outer layers as pressure is applied.
It feels like that in our lives at time too. Who would have thought we have so much in common with a pencil.
Finally, when the grinding stops, a point is revealed and is ready to be used.
It’s never perfect or without pain, but the process of preparation can lead to good things if you let it.
Endure the preparation, find a purpose, set a goal, and get busy.
