Writing without anything to say is hard, and if I were to follow my typical path, I would be in full retreat right about now. I have been expecting, watching, waiting for the end. As a matter of course, I would come up with some polite maxim such as, silence is golden, or perhaps something slightly twisted like, if you haven’t got something useful to say don’t say anything at all, but it would be nothing if not unpleasant to follow that advice again. I do not want remember when I first locked up the words in my head, and I hesitate to repeat it, because it did take those words forty something years to organize and manage a jail break. Therefore, to keep the peace of my mind, they will have to continue to indulge in their late night linguistic carousing.
Fortunately my expectation of their continued freedom is better than average, if only because I don’t have anything to lose this time if I decide to police them and go on a word round up; there is no school to fail or people to disappoint.
I am not proud of this quirk in my make-up, the one that is rebellious and contrary, the one that I have to struggle with daily. It is the thorn in my side, for my fear produces a love for rules, I want rules to show me how to fit in, how to be invisible, but this relentless unwanted quirk of mine balks, bucks and flat out refuses to get in step with the program.
So I frequently have to remind myself that everything has a purpose, even though it may not always appear to be so, that this prickly quirk can also elicit in me an awareness of the greatest of joys, you see, it points me to Grace, and there are not any rules I need to follow to abide in Christ