One moment, I sat amid a group of women feeling sorry for myself, and the next moment, I read a text from someone expressing appreciation for a little kindness which I had shown him.

One moment, tears flowed down my cheeks; and the next moment, a friend embraced me, clueless as to why I cried but willing to lend her support.

One moment, I sat over my budget scratching a pen across the page wondering how everything I wanted to do would unfold; in the next moment, I gave my trust to the ages and a certain unjustified relentlessness that I know dwells within me.

One moment, I stared into the silent darkness wondering what in the name of all holiness brought me to this moment; then the world turned a click, revealing some purposeful light shimmering on its horizon.

I make no excuses for the mistakes that preceded this day.  I understand that my feet have stumbled.  The path to here lies broken behind me.  The path to there hides in a shroud of fog through which I cannot see.  My book of life shimmers with the red of hard-written judgment and the glare of unforgiving condemnation.  But the assessing angel has a second bottle on the lectern, this one filled with black ink.  In her raised hand, she holds a poised and waiting pen.   She fixes her gaze on me and awaits my choices.

It’s the twenty-sixth day of the thirty-eighth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.




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