“But I've got a
blank space baby
And I'll write
your name.”
-- Taylor Swift /
God
My family and I moved to Los Angeles in 1988. Upon arriving
at LAX my mom recognized a famous football player in the baggage claim area.
She grabbed the book I was reading (Shoeless Joe by W.P. Kinsella) and sprinted
toward him, hurdling Samsonites like O. J. Simpson in those old car-rental
commercials. She returned with his signature on Shoeless Joe’s inside front
cover. The football player was actually Orenthal James in the flesh! She made
it back alive and I still have the book.
His signature, along with the words, “Peace to you,” didn’t
do anything for me. I don’t understand the need to get something signed by an
athlete. You’ll never catch me in line for an autograph. Nor do I go to
ballgames early, hang over railings, and stick pen and paper into an
outfielder’s grasp. And I’m certainly not going to spend any money for an
autograph. Athletes are vilified if they don’t do autographs before or after
games. Those who do, are known as the good guys. Autographs these days are a
big business, as is autograph authentication. Why the fuss over some dried ink?
What makes it so special?
However, I do have some autographs. Dear ol’ dad gave me a
baseball signed by Stan Musial. A friend once took my ball cap to a
preseason fan expo at Angels Stadium. She came back with Garret Anderson’s
“signature” scrawled all over the bill. It looked to be written by a kindergartner
with fine-motor issues.
In order to be valuable, I think an autograph has to be from
somebody who was pretty dang monumental; either in their athletic feats,
character, leadership abilities, or all of the above. Or, I don’t know, maybe because they changed the world. Players
like Garret Anderson had fine careers, but the Hall of Fame isn’t calling them anytime
soon. And yet, today’s fans push and shove each other for autographs from back-up
bench-warmers and rookie relievers. Because they can hit and throw a ball? These
are things I’ve been doing since I was three years old.
There are, however, some autographs I would like to own,
from people who did things a little more important than hitting a ball
successfully three out of 10 times. John Hancock’s for one. Imagine that baby
in a frame over the fireplace. Or how about George Washington’s on the rental
paperwork from Valley Forge? A light bulb signed by Edison. Throw in Ben
Franklin’s on the receipt from the kite store. I wonder if people clamored for
Shakespeare’s or Mozart’s signature. Or perhaps it was enough for them to
simply enjoy a night at the theatre or symphony. Mother Teresa’s or Jonas Salk’s?
People who toiled unselfishly for the betterment of others. That’s what I call
monumental.
You know whose autograph I’d like: Jesus’. Talk about doing
something monumental. Jesus wrote the book on monumental. Dying for my sins.
Coming back from the grave. Defeating death. Holding the universe together.
Reconciling mankind with its creator. Dolling out grace, peace, strength,
comfort, and love as abundantly as a puppy giving out kisses. Unconditionally.
I bet Jesus’ autograph would fetch a handsome sum at Sotheby’s.
Unfortunately, there isn’t a piece of paper on earth containing his
handwriting. But there is one in heaven. The bible talks about God having a
Book of Life. I don’t know if God has an actual, tangible book on his
nightstand. Perhaps he’s digitalized it. The Kindle of Life. It doesn’t matter.
All I know is that I want my name written in it. In God’s handwriting. His autograph.
In the New Testament of the Bible, the Book of Life
represents God’s roster of believers. This book is also called the Book of Life
of the Slaughtered Lamb, in which the names of the elect have been “inscribed
from the foundation of the world”. Also, Jesus said of his followers that, “their
names are written in heaven”.
I don’t think we have to change the world or do something
monumental to get our name in God’s book. In fact, there’s nothing one can DO
to earn an autograph in his book. Jesus did the work. We just have to believe
it. And then set out on changing the world one loved-one at a time.
The Old Testament mentions the possibility of not being
found in the Book of Life or having one’s name blotted out of it. This means separation
from God for eternity. I don’t think God has a vat of White Out or that he uses
one of those big pink erasers from elementary school. I don’t think God really
blots out names. It’s just his way of saying that your name isn’t written in
his book. Sometimes it’s easy to think that God does blot out the names of his
children. I used to think that I was one screw up away from God’s giant pink
eraser. But now I know that God uses screw-ups and messy people, like me, to
help others and share his love. It’s taken me a long time to learn this.
I think God signs our names in permanent ink. Think the
Sharpie of Heaven. Christians believe in something called the Assurance of
Salvation. Those who believe in Christ are anchored in eternity. Salvation is certain
for all of those whose names are written in the Book of Life. I don’t care if
my name is written on the first page or the last page of God’s book. Just as
long as it’s there. But, I am kind of curious as to what color with which God
writes. I have an inkling that he writes in only one color.
Red.
Blood red.
And that’s a signature for which I’ll surely stand in line.
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