Life is the book. We are the writer.
We all come into this world by the same means and with the same table. It is the tablet of life, the blank slate on which a grand story is told.
There are many chapters, and many adventures and many possibilities. All are there, ready to be written on the tablet of life. Little do we realize at the beginning, that what we write is our own creation, our own dimension, our own life. We presume, by some twisted fate of logic, that life is written for us, and that we are the victim of some cosmic chaos, driven by forces far greater than ourselves; forced upon us by others who have more wisdom, power or pulling the strings with the gods of fate.
But, in the end, we understand more clearly that life is ours to live and to create out of the dreams of our youth and the decisions of our path. Life is the book. We are the writer.
I came into this life in 1939 in Bishop, California, so that I could be with my mother and father who lived there. I suppose that it was no grander of an event than any other birth, but no less either. I did have the feeling that Mom and Dad thought it was of significance anyway, and that was all that mattered.
I have written much on my life tablet, have had many grand adventures, many wonderful memories and I am not at all ashamed of any one of them. Yes, I would probably do it all over again.
But now I open a new chapter. I am told that in a few days I shall become an octogenarian, whatever that is. It may be a disease, yet I do not think there is a cure. If you are lucky, you get over it in a while, if you call it luck at all. Maybe it is the lucky ones who do not write this chapter, but decide to go back home, to the origins of all life, to the creator and whatever it is that lies ahead.
I will probably not be so lucky, for my health is yet good and my zest for life and adventure endures. I cannot tell how long this chapter will be, but I am not going to be dragged into it, kicking and screaming. I shall leap into it with both feet, but the leap will probably not be as high as those of the past.
I have already lost many friends on this path, and I shall lose some more no doubt. But from this point on, maybe I shall mourn less and rejoice more for having had them in my life. I have other dreams to fulfill, other sermons to preach, other roads to travel and until my Lord takes my hand for the last time, I am committed to make it a worthy journey.
So, I ask my dear friends to let me continue to be part of your life, of your dreams and of your adventures. Life is a wonderful gift, and it is to be lived with joy and fervor.
Now, where is my pen? I have more chapters to write.