The Day we laid Nathanael to Rest.
If it’s part of my story, it’s part of my story. However unfamiliar it is, it is part of my story. No matter how uncomfortable I am about it being part of my story, it is my story. I may hate it, but what it is, is true, no matter how hard I find it.
Being that I’m the only one who can live my story, and that this part of the story is real, must mean it’s mine; and, that it was always meant to be mine. And, though that’s tough to swallow, I know that if I experience anything, it is therefore mine. The experience is mine. It can be no one else’s. What was never theirs, is never theirs. What was can be made no different.
If it’s part of my story, it must mean something. It must have some significance in the building of me. It must have relevance in my meta-story.
It must have some purpose, because if there was no purpose, what has happened to me would be meaningless, and because life has no point where life is meaningless, I choose to believe there is meaning in what I’ve experienced. There is a consequence for the choice I’ve taken — life, and life abundant. Should I choose to believe in meaninglessness, I would have no hope of living a life I could otherwise live. So, I choose meaningfulness from what I’ve experienced, because that is good for me and everyone connected with me, and because it honours God, because it is the best.
As I contemplate concepts of experience as reality, I enjoy the choice of acceptance.