I was dreaming a bit this last week, and there was a picture (or maybe more of an impression) I saw of my life. It was represented as a book, and each day a separate page. I didn’t understand at first, and so I asked to understand. Clarity quickly came over me as well as the enjoyment I feel each time I read a good book. The anticipation, the awareness of possibility and even the beauty of the description all combine into an experience I enjoy again and again. The vision continued to develop encompassing the idea that I have no knowledge when I start the story of the details the author will weave for each of their characters, the adventures they will encounter nor the tools at their disposal.
So in my semi-conscious state, I was left with the impression that similarly, my life is like a book. And, just like when reading any other story, I don’t know all the events that will transpire to make the story unique and memorable. I don’t know what comes on the pages of tomorrow, nor can I fully remember the details on yesterday’s manuscript. But today, by selecting each letter in synchronicity of thought, mind and body, I get to tell the story. And, all at once the wonder of the adventure, the details woven together for my growth, and the reality of tools to help me along the journey filled my being. Gone was the idea that I had the responsibility of writing someone else’s story along with the thought that I was only a spectator of my own. Instead, I get to choose how I wanted my story to read.
Today I am able to write the details I want to remember… the bravery of my home-loving daughter after a brand new rock-climbing birthday splash with friends; my son building confidence through his construction project-watching his mind put all of the pieces in order so the puzzle comes together and his animals are kept warm and dry; my husband’s constant dedication to our well-being-and at the same time his need for some time to be around his own people and maybe catch a fish or two. His story on this cold winter day, no doubt, containing descriptions of ice on his fly rod every time he casts the line. And, me? Being fully present holding the other end of the board as the saw churns sawdust into piles, the freedom to pray for and hug my strong and tired little girl and send her to bed with her beloved oaf of a dog.
Today, my page is full, not because of a to-do list of expectations, but because I connected with my children. Today, that’s my story. I cannot do anything about the pages that have already been written. Honestly, I didn’t understand or comprehend I was the one writing them; I didn’t really know I had that privilege. Like many others, I can often feel awash in the currents of life. But, then I learned that I have the gift of choice. I choose where to place my attention. I choose which conversation I want to have and with whom. I can choose not to speak – even when I have to bite my tongue to make it a reality! But, today, this present moment fills the page of my life.
What if this idea is true? What if we actually do get to write the pages of our story? What if, no matter what has come before, or the circumstances that will inevitably arise in the future, what if we really do get to choose what we want to do with the details? Do we want to write them down, or place them on the hamster wheel of our mind until we are dizzy? Do we recognize the possible trap of negativity and choose to walk away?
The details are just the facts. Whether sickness or health, rich or poor, death or life, those are the facts. The question is what do I want my story to share? If I want my book filled with light and love, I have to be able to see the light and love even in the midst of the pain – not to minimize the facts, but to respect that life is more than just the facts, it’s the essence of love. If someone else were to read my story, what would I want them to know? Do they only see shadows of doubt and uncertainty or do they see hope and courage and the possibility of the infinite?
Dear Jesus, you are infinite.
The Alpha, the Omega, the Beginning and the End.
You alone are to be praised.
Humility In The Gap 