Yesterday was a day of unfolding stories and learning how some stories ended. I saw and talked with three friends from completely different backgrounds and different walks in life. I don’t see them often; in fact, I haven’t seen a couple of them in years. I caught up with news of their families and how their lives have changed. I talked with my brother and sister-in-law and enjoyed time spent with them, although it was too brief. Then, last night my son and I reminisced about some people we had known in years gone by and where their chosen pathways led them.
Stories! People have stories and are stories. We are works in progress. However, we can’t be put into categories or have a genre label because at various times our lives might be labeled adventures or mysteries or tragedies or comedies. Parts of our lives could fit under the romance category. However much we want to protest, there are episodes that would make a good soap opera. At other times, people looking on might, hopefully, find us inspirational. But, there we are, living stories. We like to think we can plot our own scenes, have control of our actions and reactions and, to a large extent, this is true. Other times, the unexpected happens and we look around, bewildered, and wonder how in the world we got into a situation.
We always hope our life story will last a good long while, and, Lord willing, that will be true. But, we can’t control when it will be declared finished. It is nice, though, that when that time comes, those who know us will not be ready for it to stop. Like the reader who comes to the end of one of her favorite author’s books, our friends and acquaintances will ask, “Is that all? I wanted to read more.” Now, that’s a tribute that all of us should strive for.
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