While We're On The Subject Of Stories
My story has been kicking me in the pants all week.
"But these stories don't mean anything when you've got no one to tell them to..."
O the gravity of everyday life. This is where heroes are born. Unfortunately, it's also where villains are born. Too often I am the villain in my stories. At best, I am a cowardly lion sidekick hero with a tragic flaw. That's My Story.
Sometimes I cry because I miss my family. My nephew is so grown, and I have missed too much. Sometimes I don't even know why I am still away from them. Sometimes I just want to smell the Atlantic Ocean and drive on teeny nonsensical narrow roads at ridiculously low speeds and sit on Federal-sized Hills and take pictures of precious old buildings. More on that later...
Lastnight as I was putting one foot in front of another to get to my night class, I acknowledged inwardly that sneaking question: Does this small sorrow draw the attention of an eternal God? My sniffles are so small and insignificant in this big world, but they are big as all get-out in my brain. Try as I might, I haven't been able to skirt around them this week. Does He notice? Does He care? Does He wish I would get over it and care about other things more? (Also, does God know that everything is Bigger in Texas?) I can think of lots of things I wish I cared about more. God, do you accept good intentions?
;)
I have made so many mistakes and so many poorly (or barely) reasoned decisions. As a whole, however, I have made it work. Or rather, God has made it work, and let me fall on trampolines and safety nets and hammocks all over the town. He's protected me from many the potential catastrophe. Most of the time I am really thankful for the way things work. Yesterday, and every so often, someone sneaks into my soul with a baseball bat of Regrets and just starts beating. Ouch. Hurts so much I can taste it.
Why can't Current Me go back and sit with Past Me and tell Me what I'm really going to want to swing at in life? Also, Future Me, can you give Current Me some pointers on how strike this darn Regret Batter completely OUT? I'm ready for the next inning.
I pondered all this inbetween learning about Z discs and A bands and all these other bizarre skeletal muscle terms that don't seem at all relevant to anything. On the way home I just prayed, honest monologue to God, on a leap of faith that He cared what was on my mind. I spilled my regrets, and told Him that I had no idea how to get rid of them, and I didn't know if He really wanted to listen to my petty, immature hangups that I should've left behind. And I asked Him: am I supposed to go back and change some of the decisions I've made? Am I just supposed to accept what I've done and move forward? What do I do? Did I screw up the plan? (I'm sure you all have fabulous advice at this part.)
Strangest thing happened to end the evening. I got home from class, almost 10 pm. My roommate was packing her bags for a special trip so I went to say hi to her. I see her most days, and I've been in her room countless times. Lastnight there was a brand new small rectangle of paper about the size of a business card on her desk. In green handwriting, bright and bold, were written these words:
"No Regrets!"
"But these stories don't mean anything when you've got no one to tell them to..."
O the gravity of everyday life. This is where heroes are born. Unfortunately, it's also where villains are born. Too often I am the villain in my stories. At best, I am a cowardly lion sidekick hero with a tragic flaw. That's My Story.
Sometimes I cry because I miss my family. My nephew is so grown, and I have missed too much. Sometimes I don't even know why I am still away from them. Sometimes I just want to smell the Atlantic Ocean and drive on teeny nonsensical narrow roads at ridiculously low speeds and sit on Federal-sized Hills and take pictures of precious old buildings. More on that later...
Lastnight as I was putting one foot in front of another to get to my night class, I acknowledged inwardly that sneaking question: Does this small sorrow draw the attention of an eternal God? My sniffles are so small and insignificant in this big world, but they are big as all get-out in my brain. Try as I might, I haven't been able to skirt around them this week. Does He notice? Does He care? Does He wish I would get over it and care about other things more? (Also, does God know that everything is Bigger in Texas?) I can think of lots of things I wish I cared about more. God, do you accept good intentions?
;)
I have made so many mistakes and so many poorly (or barely) reasoned decisions. As a whole, however, I have made it work. Or rather, God has made it work, and let me fall on trampolines and safety nets and hammocks all over the town. He's protected me from many the potential catastrophe. Most of the time I am really thankful for the way things work. Yesterday, and every so often, someone sneaks into my soul with a baseball bat of Regrets and just starts beating. Ouch. Hurts so much I can taste it.
Why can't Current Me go back and sit with Past Me and tell Me what I'm really going to want to swing at in life? Also, Future Me, can you give Current Me some pointers on how strike this darn Regret Batter completely OUT? I'm ready for the next inning.
I pondered all this inbetween learning about Z discs and A bands and all these other bizarre skeletal muscle terms that don't seem at all relevant to anything. On the way home I just prayed, honest monologue to God, on a leap of faith that He cared what was on my mind. I spilled my regrets, and told Him that I had no idea how to get rid of them, and I didn't know if He really wanted to listen to my petty, immature hangups that I should've left behind. And I asked Him: am I supposed to go back and change some of the decisions I've made? Am I just supposed to accept what I've done and move forward? What do I do? Did I screw up the plan? (I'm sure you all have fabulous advice at this part.)
Strangest thing happened to end the evening. I got home from class, almost 10 pm. My roommate was packing her bags for a special trip so I went to say hi to her. I see her most days, and I've been in her room countless times. Lastnight there was a brand new small rectangle of paper about the size of a business card on her desk. In green handwriting, bright and bold, were written these words:
"No Regrets!"
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