Who Really Cares?

A life lived in isolation from others is the definition of futility. We were made for loving and sharing in relationship. First, child. Then often brother or sister. Maybe niece or nephew. Cousin. Soon friend. Husband or wife. And parent.

To try to interpret our lives apart from these relationships is like trying t o r e a d l e t t e r s a p a r t f r o m w o r d s. Not impossible, but lacking cohesion and understanding.

Too often this is how I look at my life especially when considering its problems. I stand at the axis of the wheel. Everyone and everything spinning around me. In this delusionary place I must have control. And all these around must simply conform to my idea of what is right. I am the author and the main character in this farce. All the other characters must read their lines and play their parts as I envision. What parades as communion is contrived illusion.

Reality tells me I am just a spoke. The Axis turns my life and the ones around me in perfect synchronization, problems and all. The truth is I am not in control. Blessed truth.

This place has room for faults and even more for grace. Grace is the oxygen that feeds the fire that warms and draws the members of this cast. The Author included the problems. They make the story interesting. Who really cares to read a story without an antagonist, a climax, or a hero? 

Here I look with hope at each conflict. Knowing it has purpose and place in the script. My knee-jerk reaction to eradicate it is replaced by humble faith that looks up and asks the Author "what is my role here?"

This story isn't mine to write but to live. To live with. In true communion with the one's I'm privileged to walk. Not controlling, but loving.

Trusting the Great Author has written well.