When writing, one needs a starting point, a beginning. Not to mention a story, something interesting for eyes to hold onto to carry souls away, to reach cloud canopies and carve new canyons of thought. Something to create windows of escape for some and diving boards of new beginnings for others.
My life used to read like a story. Not like the fairytale outlines you see on Hollywood’s movie screens, but, more like the outlines you would read in a Jack Kerouac novel, except I was Jack Kerouac. My living was primarily done on paper, and, secondly done under the stars. I wasn’t stretched out to include everyone in highschool, but concaved to allow my experiences to filter down into my screen of thought into stories. But, after awhile my stories got hungrier, and bucked at reason and practicality. Who cared if a degree was only a couple of years away. I needed to write. I wanted to explore. And, I did. Not enough wisdom was sown into my life to help me realize just how much a college degree could have helped me on my journey. So in retrospect, I’m sowing that wisdom into my son’s life. A high price I payed for those nuggets of wisdom. Hopefully he will put them to good use.
God didn’t really make himself known to me until I was in my early 20s. 23 to be exact. Until then I ran my fingers down life’s strings like an untrained harpist, picking out unique melodies while everyone else seemed to be reading their melodies from a book that I never heard of. I was the awkward girl picking her strings on the courtyard picnic table while everyone else was in rehearsal gearing up for their future careers in the philharmonic orchestra. That was me.
I traveled the scenic path for awhile, picking up euphoric experiences in my ignorance that God graciously sprinkled down. I had no friut born out of wisdom. My cupboards were bare, but, I was happily ingesting Midwestern sunsets and Miami city life as I sought to fill the empty cavaties of my soul. These moments were like the salty Antlantic washing over my being, and I was like a questioning child panning for gold. When I finally got saved it seemed as all the magic went away. I had my answer. It was all confined within the pages of one book that served as both divinity’s communication device and a life raft. I needed it, somehow. Not because it was like a soft meadow that I preferred over the bustling urban streets, but, because, it was more like an underground bomb shelter and life’s atmosphere was exploding with glowing stars of a uncertainty.