Letter to the Chief

Dear Chief,

After a lifetime of headaches, this letter seems so pointless. In this early morning hour, I find myself wondering what life would have been like, had I been on schedule in coming to this world. Even as I write these words, I realise many might call me impertinent, or even think me unstable and at the point of turning from You. I continue to write, knowing that You have an ear willing to listen—or rather, eyes willing to read.

Each time my head feels like a construction site, we both know I wish to know why these things occur. I’ve been told from my cradle that questioning You is improper, and I now ask pardon because I have questioned You a lot when invisible carpenters tend to drive nails with a passionate rhythm into my head. It would be hypocrisy to say I never wondered—not even for the tiniest of moments—whether or not You know what You’re up to. Merciful as You are, You do not punish me: a subordinate questioning an officer.

Many times I curl into a ball and grit my teeth when the cerebral carpenters are at work. You give me strength to pull myself together, if not to stop me from really screaming my head off. You have gently shown me Your reasons, and You have been extremely patient with me when my temper rises with each bang of a nail driven by the hammer. You never tire of reminding me faith is all I need.  You have shown me the beauty of living a life of paradoxes, and that Your ways—though sometimes beyond my comprehension—are always the best of everything.

I know that Your plan is more beautiful than I can imagine, and that I owe You more than I will ever know.

Forever Grateful,

The Scribbler

21 August 2014