Everyone Has a Story
"Everyone has a story. I recently turned 45, and that night my wife looked into my eyes and asked me this question. "What's left from the 45 years…" Everyone has a story, I do too, but the real question is which of these is left behind… I thought for a long time, I would have thought even longer… Because almost all of them remained in my story… But as I thought, as I looked back, a memory that made me say thank goodness, sparkling brightly, struck my mind.
I was in my 20s, I felt I couldn't breathe in the cloud of meaninglessness that engulfed my mind, I felt so alone and found my life so worthless that I could physically feel this pain on my chest. Everything seemed to melt in the face of a reason question… Indeed, why was I alive? Why did everything around me seem dry and meaningless… That's how I started reading that letter… I thought I was going to prove that night that the letter, which in my mind explained the love of God, was actually a lie…
With one hand on the Bible, I was shuffling through verses of despair with the other, it couldn't be, God couldn't be this real, He could only be a figure living in people's minds, more than a figure from afar with no effect on real life…
This is what I was looking for that night in pages, a world without God, a reality where the love of God was not real.
Why? Because nothing could be this beautiful. There couldn't be a God as they described, not only God, nothing could be this beautiful… I searched, I searched for my justification in the pages, the more I turned the pages, the more I turned… The pressure in my chest gave way to warmth after a while… The anger in my eyes, however, melted and liquefied, filling around my eyes. But I wasn't going to let them flow, and I didn't. Either the minutes had stopped, or they were passing very quickly, you know when a wheel spins quickly it's hard to see which way it's spinning... Just like that…
I was alone in my room, or at least I thought so…
I remember a sentence from the letter… "I even know the number of hairs on your head."
Even today, I still swallow hard at this statement… Loving my hair, caressing the hair of my loved one is the most basic and rarest touch of love for me.
Taken from Luke 17:7... I read.. In fact, all the hairs on your head are numbered. Do not be afraid, you are worth more than many sparrows.
Did God, the King, know the number of my hairs? Did he touch?
Afterwards… All my anger, rage, helplessness, and my sense of loneliness poured down from my eyes to the ground. The meaninglessness in my chest, finding meaning… It was as if someone was touching my heart at that moment, caressing… I don't remember how long I stayed on the floor but No morning had been as beautiful as that morning when the light hit me through the window…
Everyone has a story
But I have two stories
One before that morning, one after…
I have many more stories, I will tell again… For now, this is enough
Thank you for your time
With love…