From The Storyteller
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Hello, All. Enjoy, Doug
River Growing up in Chicago, the only thing I knew about rivers was they could turn green on St. Patrick’s Day (happened to the Chicago River every year). Then I moved to Texas, married a science person, and unlearned something I had considered to be gospel. I learned that a river is not the water flowing down to the sea; it’s the banks that hold and guide the water that is the river. It was easy to learn this in Texas when my bride pointed out to me all the highway bridges that crossed over dry, low spots had river names. She explained that when the rain does come those bridges become very necessary. This naturally caused me to think of how my life flows within a “river” that really does direct its flow. Those “riverbanks” have been formed, and continue to be formed, by a multitude of circumstances. They include things like my family growing up, neighborhood schools and churches, colleges attended, my Vietnam options (Army draft vs USAF), marriage to Elaine, our children, the jobs I’ve held, and the places I’ve lived. On occasion my “riverbanks” gave me very little wiggle room. Note: The Air Force didn’t ask my opinion when in 1967 I was assigned to Forbes AFB Topeka, KS. On other occasions the riverbanks seemed to extend like flood waters overflowing my normal banks, to offer opportunities I would never have thought possible (read here my move to Texas). I take comfort in knowing that no matter what life throws at me, the “river’s” purpose is to guide us home to the sea. I don’t need to worry about how that’s going to happen, which makes me smile. River rafting is much more enjoyable when you know where the river is taking you. Moral: Funny what a trip to Texas can do to your thinking. |