Abby and I went to my niece’s baby shower yesterday.
We had to go around the circle and introduce ourselves.
When my mom’s turn came, she gave her name and said, “This is all MY fault.”
At my turn, I said, “I’m her daughter, her mother, her sister, and her aunt. And yeah (pointing to my mom), it’s all HER fault.”
Cuz kinda sorta it is.
I mean if she hadn’t met my dad, and they hadn’t–well, you know–this little population explosion would never have happened.
I remember when then little Jeremy tumbled down the stairs.
“It’s YOUR fault,” he screamed at my husband.
“Really?” Dennis asked. “How so?”
“YOU put these socks on me! YOU called me down here! YOU bought this house! It’s YOUR fault!”
Well, kinda sorta correcto.
If Dennis and I never met and if we hadn’t adopted him and if we hadn’t moved into this house with these stairs, he wouldn’t have fallen down them.
Yep. OUR fault.
It overwhelms me, really, when I linger too long in thought. How a choice we make in this moment can affect forever moments.
How if my parents’ parents’ parents hadn’t met and had made different choices and my husband’s parents’ parents’ parents hadn’t met and had made different choices, we wouldn’t be in this place at this time. How if I/we had made different choices, we would not even know our children or they might be totally different people. How two cousins now share a similar experience. How I might not be in love with a precious 7-year-old granddaughter. How my arms throb to hold the ones soon to come.
We are the fruit of yesterday’s choices, and the seeds of tomorrow’s fruit.
We follow broken roads of the past that lead us straight to the present.
We don’t always recognize the signs that point straight to Him. Even the lost and broken dreams. The twisted expectations. The pain.
That somehow it all fits into a grander plan. Part of a bigger tree.
And that we’re not really in control anyway.
God bless the broken road that led me here. And that will ultimately lead me home, into my Lover’s arms.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Yep. It’s HIS fault!
And it’s all good.
Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Heska King