I just yesterday received a book in the mail that because of the letter that came with it I started reading immediately while I loaded the washer with whites. The book is titled, A Million Little Ways, and it's incredible. It is a book you'll want to start when you have plenty of time available to finish because it quenches your thirst. It is what we all want to hear and it is something we can all be encouraged by immediately. It can take shape in our lives in the present.
I just finished up the chapter titled, "rescue." The author encourages you to "rescue" your childhood dreams. I read this and could think of the exact dreams I had as a child and how those dreams, those desires within me, have molded and created a path in my life that I have followed. In the very next breath I read about "rescuing the hope of things to come." She explains that we all have something woven into the fiber of our beings when we were knit together in our mother's womb. I believe this. I can feel this. I read through it and continued on through the chapter. I took a breath though and something in my heart made me stop.
I had to stop. The thought that crossed my mind was, "What was woven into Charlie's being?" He was in my womb and he was so lovingly carried for almost nine months. But what did he love? He didn't get a chance to carry out a passion or make art like we all do in our lives every single day. It's not fair. I understand and realize his purpose and our purpose as his family may not be what we would have chosen if we could have but don't you think he still had something?
I love teaching, reading, writing, and (I know it's silly but...) organizing. What was the one thing he would do for nothing knowing it should feel like a waste but it wouldn't? Would he have been a teacher like his dad and I? Would he have loved sports as much as his brother and his dad? Would his passion have been found in something completely different than the rest of his family? I'm so curious. I suppose I can add that to the list of the million questions I have to ask God when I get to Heaven.
What did you weave into the fiber of Charlie's being when you so carefully knit him together in my womb?