The Start of Things

How does one start a story? How does one start to tell a story that aims to change a dead man into one who is alive? What I know now is that you can’t do this. You can only share what you have seen and experienced. But at what point do we reach the stage of such wisdom to finally share. In the Word, God says to have the faith of a child. So let’s start there shall we dear reader? At an early age, I was vastly different than most children. I conducted Beethoven’s symphonies with my kid’s meal straw. Spraying my poor mother’s car in Hi-C juice, yet she had a smile and turned up the music. I spent long hours reading books that had more than just pictures in it. I listened to gregorian chant and sang psalms at my church on Sunday mornings. I loved music and I loved the connection that it gave me to the Lord. I ran wild in his creation, disappearing for hours in the woods. Creating magical realms with such depth that authors would have been jealous. I would be an Indian one second and a dashing knight the next. I created fantastical creatures that blew the lid off of mythologies before my time. At an early age, I grew a deep fondness for J.R.R Tolkien and he became a guiding force for my faith and life. Shaping what it meant to stand up to the Orcs of my life. How to defeat the ever growing darkness that was encroaching upon the land. How the character of Bilbo was something so deeply heroic that most people missed the subtle nature of it. I quickly wore my trilogy set of Lord of The Rings down in months, with The Hobbit becoming threadbare in less than two weeks. I had very few friends and the ones that I did have often were much older than me. Some into their late 50’s or 60’s. The closest of them being my pastor. This was all before age 10 and I swear I should have stayed that way. But that’s for another post and another time. For now, I leave you to ponder your own childhood and reflect on if your 10-year-old self would want to hang out with who you are now.  kirsty-tg-74703.jpg

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