Cries of a Curious Follower

I wish my butt was bigger and my belly was smaller. . .

But that’s not the case.

I wish I’d have listened to Mary when she said I was too young and she wasn’t the right choice. . .

But I didn’t.

I wish I hadn’t burned so many brain cells on alcohol so young in life.

But I did.

I wish I’d have enjoyed the East Coast more when I lived there, that I would have enjoyed the Pacific more when I lived there, that I would have traveled more when it was free to me . . .

Well, the theme continues doesn’t it?

This type of thinking is okay as a book-end, but not ok as an escape from the present. It is not a place to live.

The fact is the only thing I have control over in this life are my choices. This isn’t defeatist, it’s the healthy-breathing, shoulder-relaxing fact. And choices . . . I’ve made a few good, many bad, and some yet to be determined.

My life turned out how it did. I am not simply the result of my choices—I am the result of others’ choices, too. But most importantly, I choose to see the grace on my life.

But God.

He knows. He sees. He is.

And I’m grateful.