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It's a perfect notebook.  Beautiful.  Spotless.  Literally perfect; there can be no flaws with this book.  It's simply against its nature.

Inside: neat lines of simple writing.  Every person who's ever lived is logged in that book.  Their name is underlined and bullet points cover every page after it--yet somehow the book holds everyone and their bullet points without ever filling up.  
The bullet points record their wrongs.  Everything they've ever done.  Every wrong thing done in secret, in public, and in their minds.  Everything.  Nothing escapes His notice.

But every once and a while, He jumps up from His seat, smiling widely.  He can hardly contain His joy as He calls for ink.  It's brought, and He positively grins as He flips to someone's page.  He gleefully spills the ink everywhere, over all their pages.  "Yes!" He exclaims, turning another page only to spill ink over it all.  The words are now indecipherable.  "Yes!  Now they know!  They've realized it!  They've accepted it!"  He smiles, spreading more ink.  "None of this matters now!  None of it has any hold on them.  They've been made new!"

The ink gets everywhere, but excitement is in the air and no one cares.  All the wrongs have been blotted out.  They no longer define the person.  It's as if they've never existed.

Rejoicing resounds, and the notebook is forgotten.

--9.17.17

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