Mom thought I had real nice long fingers, fit to play the piano. ( I was a teen then) She made me go for piano class near home. More than learning music, I was eager to go to the class early and wait. Why? My teacher has a stack of Guideposts on her living room. I used to be a voracious reader then, and loved reading that magazine.
Below is a poem I read one day, that has stuck with me all these years. You probably have heard me say this as a story more than 100 times ( with exaggeration and a lil twist). But here it is again, believing that this lesson on trust that I learnt more than 15 years ago, which had imbibed in me ( inspite of my terrible memory), will also help you in your walk and that I won't ever forget again.
As children bring their broken toys,
With tears, for us to mend;
I brought my broken dreams to God,
Because he was my friend.
But then instead of leaving him,
In peace to work alone,
I hung around and tried to help,
With ways that were my own.
At last, I snatched them back and cried,
"How could you be so slow?"
"My child," He said, "What could I do?
You never did let go...."
Poem's called 'Broken dreams/broken toys/let go and let God.' Looks like my memory is not bad after all!
