There’s a sweet children’s series written by Jenny L. Cote.  It tells of the adventures of some immortal animals that serve as helpers to the Lord as He orchestrates the historical components that would later make up the Scriptures.  In one installment, the animals assist the prophet Ezekiel.  There are numerous scenes where the prophet is shown sitting at his table, ink in hand, candles lit, scrolls in abundance, taking down the Lord’s dictation.  I wonder if he ever saw the task of being the hand that held the pen through which God wrote and thought himself unworthy or inept for the task.  It was God’s words.  But it was, decidedly, Ezekiel’s pen and hand. 

And then there’s Peter.  Thanks to Cote, I often see Ezekiel and others as familiar in this dictation role.  But not Peter.  He was not called to write.  He wasn’t trained or educated or erudite in the scholarly work.  He was a fisherman.  He was not young, but rather an old dog to whom new tricks surely felt harder to learn.  He was mature, with a wife and home.  He had a business and a life. 

And then God told him he was to be so much more. 

I wonder if he ever dreamed that part of that ‘more’ would be serving as God’s stenographer. 

There are only two books of the Bible attributed to Peter and neither is particularly lengthy.  And yet they are masterful.  As far as the literary component, they are beautifully written, well worded, concise, eloquent, fluid, pointed, incredibly well done.  And they were written by hands worn callous from the menial task of fishing.  The hand that held the pen was well worked and hard used and not of the smooth and scholarly condition of an intellectual.

I wonder if he wrote out what would become I Peter and read it over a hundred times to make sure it was right.  I wonder if he proofed it over and over before sending it to it’s intended recipients.  I wonder if he wrote it all in one sitting or if God just inspired him one small theme at a time. 

I wonder if he felt assured that what he’d penned was what God had, in fact, dictated. 

An uneducated, slang speeched, fisherman wrote a literary work that I sit here and marvel over two thousand years later.  God did it.  But Peter offered himself up to be the man who held the pen.

That for which I am ill-equipped and uneducated, that which seems illogical and ill-conceived and advised, that is what God has a pattern of working with and accomplishing.  Sometimes just once or twice and sometimes in a repeated pattern throughout all of a surrendered life.

What might our calloused hands be called to accomplish?  What might our temporal minds be inspired to grasp?  What might our small lives be on the verge of building? 

For the Ezekiel who seems to me suited for the task and for the Peter who seems so unsuited, God …well I guess that’s really the end of that sentence isn’t it.  God.