the past is fascinating and the future is a mystery. the past is such a good teacher, having taught us and made us into the people that inhabit the mystery and solve it in the present . . . to regret the past is to destroy the future and leave the mystery unsolved. never regret. only look forward. look forward to all the mysteries that we’ve left to solve. all the person that we get to become.
i suddenly had a thought (ha! hence the note right??), id like to think of life as a book (uber original i know). this book is a mystery, as stated earlier. starts w/ birth. ends w/ death. God wrote this book. he is a pretty great author id like to think. well versed in all genres. and he is the only one that knows the end. he has engineered this life, or this peice of literature, to build upon what has been written prior to this second. just like this thought, it just keeps building on what ive already said. cool huh?? now in this book, our books, there are all kinds of CRAZY things going on. there are places that we book mark the mess out of and reread over and over again and then those places that have been torn out, shredded, burned, and marked through. these places are full of hurt and regret, tears and tears (both words, not the same one twice) and spills and black marks. things that have obscurred the original story and remain permanent against our futile attempts to refresh them. things that have masked the original intent of the Author. but they are still part of who we are. they are the pages in our story. and they cannot ever be removed. we are super lucky though because our author has something no other author has. he can remove these marks and blimishs to remind and show us what he really wanted us to read. the story that hed always intended for us to be part of. its just a question of whether we want to see whats under all the garbage. do we grow so attached to the crap weve been through, the marks on our pages, the tears and stains smearing the words, that we refuse the only way to read the story in its true form?? when i have a book, i read it like everyone else. ill read it outside, on the couch, while eating, most anywhere. and inevitably stuff gets on it and ruins it. how much i would love to have such things removed. to have the book new again. wouldnt you?? needless to say, as far as i go, my pages are falling out, torn out, marked up. just like everyone elses. i need Him to make them new again. to refresh the binding. to return pages and rewrite those that are unreadable. i need to have Him read to me. to read to me the true story. to show me the truth in what i find to be a life of error and inadaquacy. i think im at a breaking point. one of the many mysteries in this grand story of my life is about to be worked out. and im excited.
