I wonder what music artists think of people who abuse their CDs.
Random? The thought popped into my head when I reached for Andrew Peterson’s
Counting Stars CD, one of my favorites. A disc was on top, and I gasped in horror as I pulled it down: yes, it was
the disc.
Needless to say, I wasn’t pleased. I flipped it over, and, *gasp*, there were
scratches on it. I knew
I hadn’t done such a horrible thing, being obsessive with putting CDs where they belong.
Period, exclamation point.
Of course, I don’t know who put on those scratches. While plotting my investigation, I had a thought. Maybe it was well worn from use, not malicious abuse.
Then I “had another think coming”: I do the same thing.
Yes, I know, I just said I desperately try not to scratch discs. But I’ve taken other things, good, beautiful things, and they’ve been scratched from misuse, from overuse. Translation:
abuse.
Things that I can’t give, that aren't really mine. Gifts from the Giver. And I don’t have a scratch remover.
When I don’t use things the way that He intends them to be used, when I don’t give Him glory, they lose their beauty, their wonder. They no longer work as they were designed.
The gifts are abused through neglect of the Giver. The gifts can only be repaired by the Giver, the Maker.
I know what authors think of people who “overuse” their books.
Several of my books have the beaten, slightly battered, grungy feel from use. I’ve seen the look on an author’s face when he feels the dented, oft-handled cover.
The world calls it overuse most of the time.
The gift is really being used as it was made to be.
Shared. Handled. Enjoyed.
Blessing. Helping. Healing.
The way the Giver intended it. And that’s a real blessing.
