Take me home.

My life is a novel.
Sometimes comedy, sometimes drama and even into the realms of science fiction it sometimes seems to travel. There is an author and He's brilliant. He marks the bottoms of my shoes with ink and lets me run away on whatever path I desire...but He has a road drawn out that He wants me to follow. I'm often afraid on this road because of the shadows. The turns are so sharp that the shadows swallow up the path. I step because the road is always there, but I still fear the shadows. And my feet try to follow the penned lines lovingly leading me but my footprints mark up the burm and often stumble into the other lane. The pages are smeared with my missteps.
My life is a novel.

Tonight we followed the road. All year we have followed the road faithfully but tonight we have found ourselves alone, with Him. Actually, Him and two. Two faithful children that know of our struggles and our mutual desire for nothing more than His will. And I love them. And I thank Him for them. But the two are set as a reminder of the smallness of the number. There used to be many. There used to be much. The much slowly dwindled away but we knew we didn't need much, so we didn't miss it. We didn't expect the many to dwindle to two, however, and it caught us off guard. We felt the loss. But He picked us up again, placed us in the presence of the two and left us to praise Him for His goodness, together. And we did. And we do. And we will.
And our feet continue on the path although it is all shadow now. We can't see the road or feel it under our shoes, but we can smell the pen marks. The author never leaves His characters without a path to follow. That's what makes it a worthy story and Him a crafted creator.