A Road Not Taken

There are times I'm deeply troubled about the changes in my life. Sometimes I wonder if I know myself at all. It seems strange that I've gone from growing up in a family that rarely attended church, then became a devout Christian at age 25, only to find myself questioning the validity of the church now that I'm 53.

But the oddity of it all is that in many ways I've never changed. I drew a picture of a clock with wings and titled it, "Faith," when I was merely six or seven. Seeing as how my family almost never attended church, it seems strange that I would've even known what "faith" meant. Maybe I didn't, but I did have a very secure belief in God.

Maybe it's because I was nearly killed at age two when I was run over by a car. My skull was fractured front and back, both legs broken in several places, as well as my left arm. When my grandmother found me in the middle of the road, she said my skull was cracked open so wide she could see my brain. The ambulance never came. My cousin, William Cox, is said to have wrapped a rag around my head and held the wound together swhile my grandfather drove me to the hospital. They waited six days to operate and set my legs and arm because I was too weak to survive an operation.

Maybe when someone walks to the line between life and death, they are privy to the councils of the Almighty. I wonder if all who have touched the face of death and lived have a firm faith in God? I do.

So why am I deeply troubled about the changes in my life when there actually haven't been any changes at all?

Because I know there's still a road not taken.