You are not the author of life, nor are you the author of your life.  Your family was grafted into your physical and mental make-up.  Your nation is much older than you know.  The language you speak has been shaped and dented, honed, shattered, and reforged by countless wars and emigrations as it came to where you speak it today; somewhere en-route.  For all that you are, some large, unknown percentage was never going to be yours to choose.

Here you are.

What if you were the co-author?

You know how to write and have been given access to pen and parchment; key and screen.  What if you could graft into yourself a new family, even the family of God?  What if you could learn to speak the language of acting on the convictions of a timeless wisdom?  You could be the first to jot down notes on this language in your place.  You are heading in some direction.  What if you are the rudder?  The designer of the ship, you will never be, but the instrument to guide it for the good you choose; that you can be.

You are fortunate, my friend.  All of the days in history have led to this single moment; this one squeeze and exhale of blood within the muscle your ribs stand vigil over.  You have everything you will ever need to be a timeless part of God’s story; and you are making your choice even now.