Things happen.

Pat and I took a picnic supper to Lincoln Park last night.
We could hear music from The Fraze.
Thousands of people walking dogs.
They stop to talk to one another (the people)...the dogs sniff each other.
A few people fishing in the lake.
One boy practicing doing impossible things on his bike.
After a delicious supper (prepared by my lovely wife),
we read.
I'm reading a book about the power of personal stories.
Do you realize that your life is a story?
It has a plot...a beginning, a middle, and an end.
We put so much emphasis on the power of our beginnings.
We even blame the beginnings for our failures or weaknesses.
Why don't we give more power to our endings?
Here's the good news: We can rewrite the script.
We can give beginnings new meanings.
And we can write our future.
Of course we can't control everything that will happen.
But we are able to write the 'character' we will be--
how we respond to events and people.
The pen is in our hands.
We are not controlled by Fate.
As an actor in our own drama, we do not have to read what
other people have written for us.
We can ignore their lines.
Instead, we can make up our own lines
and our own destiny.
Not to leave God out.
God is off stage...and on stage...directing...prompting...
cluing in...encouraging...even disguised as another actor.
You never know.
We have more power than we think.
I've been frustrated by a prescription lately.
I called it in to my doctor's office last Friday,
and they were supposed to call it into Walmart.
I waited until Tuesday to pick it up.
But it wasn't there.
I gave them another day--went yesterday,
but it still wasn't there.
So, this morning after going to Kettering Hospital for
Helen Beam's knee replacement surgery (oh--shhhh! don't
tell anyone--she didn't want to be on the prayer list),
I went to my doctor's office to see if they had received my
phone call about the prescription.
They had.
They called Walmart.
Walmart had it ready.
Somebody wasn't doing their job very well.
I wasted a lot of time hunting down that prescription.
Things shouldn't be the way they are.
But they are.
I got an abdominal pain a couple of days ago.
I thought: I've got cancer....I'm going to die.
The pain went away after two days.
Why is it that my imagination is so good at conjuring up
negativity?
Why can't I imagine good things just as easily?
I have a talent for predicting bad things (that never happen).
It all goes back to my beginnings....