As far back as he could remember, all he had ever wanted was to be normal. He wasn't even really sure what normal was exactly, but it was always held in high regard by his mother. The life lessons she taught were subtle, but lasting in their impact: You don't want to be poor. But being too wealthy is something to disdain. Vanity is, well, vain. But stand up straight, point your toes in when you walk, and for heaven's sake, don't pick your nose in public. Don't stand out. But don't be common. Excel. But don't be haughty. God's grace has washed you of your sins, but don't get too comfortable.
Today I awoke from a coma. Not a real coma, but a fog that has lasted some 30 years or more.
"Live your life for something bigger than yourself."
What have I been living for? Normalcy? Some elusive status quo?
"In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God."
Words are powerful. Words have the power to heal, the power to inspire, the power to hurt, the power to destroy.
We're constantly sowing words like seeds. Some will fall on fertile soil, some on rocky soil. Some will be choked out by thorns and weeds. Some will be eaten by birds. Some will take root and grow.
Funny how I can remember some words that were spoken to me long, long ago. "Sometimes you have to act your way into a better way of thinking," a wise woman told me at a pivotal point in my life. "Don't stand like that, you look like a queer," an older neighborhood boy told me. (Ironically, his father would later leave his mother for a man.) "My dad says your mother looks like a sack of potatoes," said a kid who looked like he should have worn that sack over his head.
What words am I sowing? I need to think before I speak.
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