Better Ideas


Every time I look carefully at my right hand, I see a scar.  It’s on my first finger, acquired on a hot summer day when I was thirteen.

School was out, and for some reason dad was home that afternoon and mom wasn’t. He was mowing our huge yard, and I was under instructions to bring him ice water every so often.

I thought lemonade was better than ice water , so I set about making that.  In those days, lemonade concentrate came in a can, and you had to remove the metal lid to go about making a pitcher of it. And right there, mid lid removal, was the source of my scar. Next was a petrified scream to my dad, who hugged me, washed my hand and took me to get stitches.

Such a little thing, it seems. But that scar is a reminder.

It isn’t unusual for me to have a better idea than the path set before me.  At 13, it was just about lemonade.  All grown up, it’s about much more .

It can be about being argumentative or uncooperative.

It can be about what I reveal, and what is left hidden.

It can be about adjusting what I give, and what I dare keep.

And it can be me thinking I can control what isn’t for me to control.

This is a theme for me, and I long to clear the stage.

To be a woman of my word, to be a woman of THE Word.  To believe, and follow that Path.

I’m a collector of scars.

 

 

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