My wife, the Reverend Mother, preached a sermon yesterday. In it she described how there is a book being written about our lives, every day, and that one day that book will be opened. But there is also, she said, a script for our lives that has already been written and that we can follow. I know both are true.

The first book is scary. Many things are in there that I wish I could rewrite, or delete entirely. Unfortunately, all my rough drafts are there, unalterable:

my missteps…

half-finished thoughts…

idle words…

careless plots and sketchy character development —

all of it, just waiting for a real Author and Finisher.

The script, however, is comforting. It means that I, like an actor at rehearsal struggling to learn a new part, have a guide to fall back on; someone who knows what the plot twists are for and how the story ends. It means that in any scene, if I lose my way or forget my part, I can stop and say,

“Line, please.”

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