I love stories.
I've been reading two books over the past week or so, one which I finished last night, and the other one that I finished just a couple of minutes ago.
I love beginnings, where I can see the conflict set up. I like endings that satisfy. Endings I can believe and that fit with the rest of the book.
I also enjoy the middle of the book. I'll admit--when I'm reading mysteries, I'm the type that tries to figure out not where the story is going, but where the author is going. I look at the writing strategies they use and try to figure out what tricks they're trying to pull to keep me from catching the clues they drop. I get mixed feelings of pleasure and annoyance when I'm right. I like knowing I'm right, but really? He/she let me see through his/her little games and guess the end before I got there? How ... un-mysterious.
Anyway, all that said, I realized the other day that life isn't like a story. At least, each day isn't. I've been trying to think of things to blog about, but I haven't been able to find some nugget of wisdom or poignant moment to share. No occurrence has leapt out at me as the perfect blog topic.
But each day isn't a story. God's taking all of our days and little moments and shaping them into something bigger as a whole. Each day won't necessarily make sense by itself, or have a satisfying resolution. Though it might be fair to classify some days as having cliff-hanger endings ...
So I'll keep posting here, even when I don't have answers and I don't feel I have a complete story to tell. But as each little piece fits together, someday the bigger picture might just become clear.
Someday, Lord willing, I'll look back and be able to say, "There it is! That was my story!"