I grew up in a predictable world. It was “Mayberry”, complete with sidewalk games, little league baseball, and town parades. Everyone was nice.
My dad got the 5:40 commuter train home to our little town from Chicago every night. Each day ended with my loving, family gathered around the dinner table joining hands to pray before eating. We went to church. We did the “right” things and we were “blessed”.
God was predictable. He was safe.
In my world “good” things happened to “good” people. Trust came easy.
It was hard for me to relate to the 99% of the world who lived with chronic pain, and hard for them to comprehend the “It’s a Wonderful Life” snow globe I lived in.
All this delightful predictability made my crash all the more dramatic. Continue reading
