The Story of My Life

The Mag #217

 

 

"Forever is composed of nows."  ~Emily Dickinson

 

 

 

The story is this, I have always wanted to know the ending at the beginning.  It's a weakness that I have clasped on to tightly, like an alcoholic and a bottle of gin.  Uncertainty is a double edged sword of dicing truths.  Either you learn to have faith in something greater than yourself or find yourself working hard to prevent the inevitable as if you are the greater power which proves to be a big mistake. However, both sides of the road hold the power to make you a little bit tougher, like a slab of meat that needs preparation for the grill.  I want to know that everything is going to be okay. That the last part of the story has a comfortable feel like a cozy room and a loving companion, but that part of the story is not yet ready to be told.  There are lines in between that must be written upon the page.  Experiences that must happen, like roads and highways make paths to destinations that people want to go.  My road is not yet paved all the way, it is an awkward gravel path, and the journey's end is not yet in sight.  It is a pilgrimage of schooling that no one graduates from with honors, only scars, and a little more wisdom that on the first page.  Faith is an acquired art like cigarettes, coffee, or gin and tonic on the rocks.  You don't begin the process with ease nor grace.  There will be some coughing and you may choke before you get the first couple swallows down.  And yet after all my ramblings about the "why's" of life, certainty,  and the journey I still struggle with the need to know what I cannot yet know.  There is an excerpt that eloquently speaks of this from the famous book "The Hiding Place"  by Corrie Ten Boom that goes like this:

 

“And so seated next to my father in the train compartment, I suddenly asked, "Father, what is sexsin?"
He turned to look at me, as he always did when answering a question, but to my surprise he said nothing. At last he stood up, lifted his traveling case off the floor and set it on the floor.
Will you carry it off the train, Corrie?" he said.
I stood up and tugged at it. It was crammed with the watches and spare parts he had purchased that morning.
It's too heavy," I said.
Yes," he said, "and it would be a pretty poor father who would ask his little girl to carry such a load. It's the same way, Corrie, with knowledge. Some knowledge is too heavy for children. When you are older and stronger, you can bear it. For now you must trust me to carry it for you.”
~Corrie Ten Boom

 

 

So I guess the story is this:  I am still trying to pick up baggage that I am not yet strong enough to hold.

The End.