Well, I said I’d be done by tonight . . .Seven years of Sundays have come and gone.
I’m still largely unsure as to what it all means in the end; what this was really all about . . . a mid-life crisis of some kind, a period of transition certainly.
I know more than I did when this started, but I also have more questions than I did.
The God of the Bible is more real and my love for Brenda and the girls is more profound.
My gut is bigger, shoulders less broad and my back hurts.
My eyesight is fading, my politics are changing and I love sleep in a whole new way.
Puzzle pieces that don’t fit, a new embrace of duality and freedom from a need for approval (well . . .substantial progress in that area at least). Not a bad harvest for seven years of cultivation.
Life is good. I have no wish to die, but neither do I fear it.
God gave me one last thing this morning as I looked out on a frosty landscape and I asked for some little touch . . . A “last word” of sorts.
His voice rang clearly like it only rarely does . . . . a thought that appears fully formed, solid as rock, smooth as glass and unquestionably not my own:
“Take nothing for granted.”