Wildswanderer
Veteran Member
Life is a story.
Life is a stream, that ebbs and flows.
With ripples and rapids.
Deep pools and undercut banks.
Where the darkness will pull you under,
if you let it.
Sometimes the current is so swift
You can hardly see the scenery.
Sometimes slow and stagnant,
and you have to paddle hard to get anywhere.
When the grassy meadows are bright with spring sunshine, and the dragonflies play among the flowers, it's easy to forget the treacherous waters ahead.
Your story ebbs and flows.
Your dreams rise and fall.
Your expectations are fulfilled, or they fall away unnoticed.
But for some, dreams turn to ashes
For some, expectations burn in the night.
And tears run like the river in the morning.
And here, you might expect a pithy saying.
Perhaps: "Write your story well."
But, in truth, parts were already written long ago.
By your parents and grandparents and by siblings and friends and hundreds of other stories that intersect and push you off course or unto a better course. So maybe you didn't get to choose as much of your story as you think.
And if life is a story, you must ever search for the One who wrote the beginning and the end.
Perhaps he knows how the middle should go, too.
And if life is a river, (and I know you want to float high and dry and carefree) perhaps it just depends who you invite to get into the boat with you.
Someone who walks on water would probably be a good choice.
Life is a stream, that ebbs and flows.
With ripples and rapids.
Deep pools and undercut banks.
Where the darkness will pull you under,
if you let it.
Sometimes the current is so swift
You can hardly see the scenery.
Sometimes slow and stagnant,
and you have to paddle hard to get anywhere.
When the grassy meadows are bright with spring sunshine, and the dragonflies play among the flowers, it's easy to forget the treacherous waters ahead.
Your story ebbs and flows.
Your dreams rise and fall.
Your expectations are fulfilled, or they fall away unnoticed.
But for some, dreams turn to ashes
For some, expectations burn in the night.
And tears run like the river in the morning.
And here, you might expect a pithy saying.
Perhaps: "Write your story well."
But, in truth, parts were already written long ago.
By your parents and grandparents and by siblings and friends and hundreds of other stories that intersect and push you off course or unto a better course. So maybe you didn't get to choose as much of your story as you think.
And if life is a story, you must ever search for the One who wrote the beginning and the end.
Perhaps he knows how the middle should go, too.
And if life is a river, (and I know you want to float high and dry and carefree) perhaps it just depends who you invite to get into the boat with you.
Someone who walks on water would probably be a good choice.
