A SCRIPT UNFOLDING – WINTRYPOET

A SCRIPT UNFOLDING

The old man who lived at the end of my street used to say that life was a holy drama. Not in a fire-and-brimstone, thunder-from-the-mountain kind of way, but more like a meticulously crafted play where each player had a role, a purpose, a script written by an Author beyond our comprehension. I was sixteen then, mostly concerned with surviving trigonometry and agonizing over whether Kristen Shuman would ever notice my existence. The old man’s pronouncements, delivered with a twinkle in his eye and a comforting cup of chamomile tea, were more amusing than profound. I’d nod politely, take another sip, and promptly forget them until the next visit.

Now, at forty-seven, his words echo with a clarity that chills me to the bone. For years, my life had been a predictable and comfortable melody. Born overseas and raised in a sleepy Michigan town, I followed the expected trajectory: good grades, an honest heart, sensible reasoning, and a steady job. My mind had always had a strange, almost mystic, perspective on life. I believed that we weren’t just aimlessly wandering through existence but playing out roles in a grand, cosmic narrative. I thought about the Author of this play, a Being of infinite wisdom and love who orchestrated every scene, every line, every interaction. The world can be a cruel and unforgiving place, full of trials and temptations that test our strength and resilience. But I believe that it is precisely these challenges that make us who we are and that it is through overcoming them that we can grow and flourish as individuals. I have always been a student of the human condition, fascinated by the complexities of the soul and the intricacies of our emotions. I have seen firsthand the struggles that so many people face daily. I have witnessed the pain of loss and the heartache of broken relationships. I have held the hands of the sick and the dying, offering what comfort I could in their final moments. And I have listened to the stories of those who have been marginalized and oppressed, their voices silenced by the powerful and the privileged. But through it all, I have also seen the incredible power of the human spirit, the resilience and determination that allows us to keep going even when all seems lost. I have seen people rise above their circumstances, triumphing over adversity and finding hope in the darkest of places.

The Author, a Creator of Mercy and Compassion, wants us to do our part in making the world a better place. To work and provide support and resources to those in need, offering a listening ear and a helping hand to those who are struggling. To speak out against injustice and oppression, using our voice to amplify the voices of those who have been silenced. And to cultivate a sense of empathy and understanding in those around us, encouraging others to see the world through the eyes of those who are suffering. So here I am, on the verge of grey hairs and aching bones.

Looking back, everything feels different. I understand, at least intellectually, what the old man was trying to say. This isn’t about losing or gaining, it’s about surrendering to the grand design. It’s about recognizing that there is a profound intelligence directing the dance, an Author who knows the full arc of the story, even when we only see the individual scenes. It’s terrifying because I don’t know what awaits me in the future. The carefully planned, predictable script is ongoing. There is indeed an unseen hand guiding us, a master Author penning the most exquisite and intricate of plays. For the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of excitement. It’s a strange blend of fear and exhilaration, of the unknown and the unexpected.

We are all actors on a stage, reciting lines and participating in a holy drama, a beautiful, chaotic, and ultimately meaningful story. And that, for the first time, feels utterly and profoundly right. As I rise from bed, the birds outside singing, I step forward into my next scene, trusting that the Author knows exactly what He is doing, even if I don’t.