Letters of Life


The thing about journeys is that sometimes God sets you on a path which, without His intervention, you’d never have found yourself on. And there comes a point in the journey where you stop and ask yourself–usually in the middle of a momentous moment–you ask yourself, “How did I get here?”

And you start tracing back the series of events that brought you to that spot, that place, with the strangers or friends you see around you. If it’s strangers, the question can be more poignant.

Or not.

And you wonder, what’s it all about? What *is* it all about?

Of course the inkling of the answer or answers are already there, sometimes plain as day, but we want to think it’s still night. We want to stay in our land of makebelieve.

The hardest thing about journeys is hearing the instructions, believing you heard them right, and *following* them.

The hardest instruction to follow is the one that asks you to die to the self. To give up the things you like, have gotten used to having around you, that comfort you but is considered not a good thing in the long run.

It’s even more difficult when “the long run” includes all of eternity.

A shift is needed. Yes, one from Diane von Furstenberg would be nice, but also a shift in perspective, for which new glasses would be welcomed.

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