Pictures in the Sand

I'm not sure whether to continue the writing endeavor I once started on this blog. The beginnings of this once frequent stage were rooted in a journey that once seemed so clear. So much has taken place since I started this page, finding a place where I could let the world know what was going on and share my written heart when spoken words were not enough.

Recently, an epiphany from outside sources hit - the simple truth that we're all living a story that we wish to tell, a story that we wish will be a good story. Sometimes our choices cause our stories to change direction and take on a route that was never anticipated, a route that surely may ruin the story. Yet, it's often those twists that become the apex of the story. We look to challenges with disgust when they are really the things that change us the most. Those hard times, that's where a person grows. That heartbreak, that's the point at which a man or a woman grows to see that they become better because of it. I don't pretend that I will understand all that life holds, but I know that I want my story to be a good one, and I'm hoping that I will have the courage to continue to make the decisions which provide for a better narrative.

The question then becomes, in my mind, is shall we all live for our own stories, or will we acknowledge that the brief narrative we write with our own life is but a word in the overarching story of this small world. We write our stories in the sand, knowing that in short years the tide will rise to claim our fragile artistry and all that will be left is the memory of our sand drawings imprinted in the minds of fellow sand painters.

I think I will continue to write, and perhaps, just perhaps, my story will point to that who is greater than I and the Author of all our stories.