Unconnected Significance
Ever have those weeks where each day holds something semi-significant?
It's a storyteller's pet peeve. Something interesting happens, and in the midst of working it into an entertaining story, some other unusual event occurs. It's unrelated but still noteworthy. The story teller can't quite connect the events meaningfully, but to tell one story and not the other...
That's what these past few days have been for me. A break-in, an escape. A near tragedy, a dramatic recovery. A stirring of a long-forgotten passion, and a surprising absence of one. Not a one is connected to another.
The volume has been turned up. Or the picture just came into focus. Something must have happened to bring these all together right on top of each other. And surely, if I just listen a little harder or look a little closer, I'll find the pieces that make it all come together in a proper story.
But how do you connect the careful calculation of an active thief (it appears the item of greatest value in our storage unit was a 14 year old computer) with the utter fluke of a flightless zoo bird discovering flight... right over the 15 foot high fence?
Or what can you make of a beautiful final day of holidaying nearly derailed by a man crashing through the arms at a railroad crossing in front of the oncoming train?
And put this back to back with another man suddenly struggling for breath and consciousness while preparing for the Lord's Supper. (If the prayers of a righteous man availeth much, a congregation freshly reminded of forgiveness and grace makes a mighty audience for the desperate pleas of a panicking wife.)
Add in a chance talk with a friend casually winding around to a subject I love but rarely think about now.
And then, as if that all were insufficient, I discovered myself to be standing in line at a store behind the woman who prompted more nightmares of mine than any other single person... and finding only pity where anger once raged.
Such a range of human emotion, the results of both coincidence and purpose. These events have no connecting thread except they could fill sequential pages in my diary.
It all started on New Year's Day, and I tell myself this, too, is a coincidence. A week of such stories is one thing, an entire year? Oh, gentle readers, what would become of me?
It's a storyteller's pet peeve. Something interesting happens, and in the midst of working it into an entertaining story, some other unusual event occurs. It's unrelated but still noteworthy. The story teller can't quite connect the events meaningfully, but to tell one story and not the other...
That's what these past few days have been for me. A break-in, an escape. A near tragedy, a dramatic recovery. A stirring of a long-forgotten passion, and a surprising absence of one. Not a one is connected to another.
The volume has been turned up. Or the picture just came into focus. Something must have happened to bring these all together right on top of each other. And surely, if I just listen a little harder or look a little closer, I'll find the pieces that make it all come together in a proper story.
But how do you connect the careful calculation of an active thief (it appears the item of greatest value in our storage unit was a 14 year old computer) with the utter fluke of a flightless zoo bird discovering flight... right over the 15 foot high fence?
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| I kept trying to get a good picture of the cute baby giraffe without the ugly bird. A few hours later, when we were on the other side of this enclosure, still cooing at the baby, the bird made his move toward freedom. As one animal handler commented, as far as code reds go, this is as exciting as you want it. |
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| It's a good day to be riding the train. |
And put this back to back with another man suddenly struggling for breath and consciousness while preparing for the Lord's Supper. (If the prayers of a righteous man availeth much, a congregation freshly reminded of forgiveness and grace makes a mighty audience for the desperate pleas of a panicking wife.)
Add in a chance talk with a friend casually winding around to a subject I love but rarely think about now.
And then, as if that all were insufficient, I discovered myself to be standing in line at a store behind the woman who prompted more nightmares of mine than any other single person... and finding only pity where anger once raged.
Such a range of human emotion, the results of both coincidence and purpose. These events have no connecting thread except they could fill sequential pages in my diary.
It all started on New Year's Day, and I tell myself this, too, is a coincidence. A week of such stories is one thing, an entire year? Oh, gentle readers, what would become of me?
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