It’s late now, and I’m quite tired. I have been grabbing every spare moment I can to write. And it’s hard. Despite having just crossed the threshold of five hundred posts here (who knows how many word that is anyway?), this thing, this book idea, looms large in my mind.
In order to do it justice, I find I must step back into the misty past to find my forebears. Because I need to know the ones who shaped the ones who shaped me.
Yet so many are gone from this life, with only shadows left. Some I never knew. And some events are things which I’m told happened to me, but of which I have no memory.
I feel like I’m reconstructing the million little pieces of a life–of many lives, really. Such is obscured by the hazy lens of time…
And so much has gone by.
Why didn’t I do this sooner? When I (on the words of Billy Joel) “wore a younger man’s clothes?” When my brain wasn’t addled by apnea?
But now is the time I have, and my heart burns within me. I have a beginning, and some notion of the middle, but I’m not sure where it will end–because this is the story of a life, like shoes being broken in, still being lived in, walked through.
There will be blisters, and calluses. And some may be pained by what I say, but it will be the truth as best as I recollect it.
It just occurred to me that I do have a fitting end:
What about you, and your life? Who, or what, shaped you? Somehow, does it all come back, for you, as it does me, to: “but God?”