As of late, I’ve been spending my evenings reading “Great Expectations”; one of my all-time
favorite novels. Somehow Dickens manages to coerce me from chapter to chapter
even as I am stumbling over his bumbling prose. Last night I continued a
familiar journey beginning in the 37th chapter of this great novel, knowing
from the outset, that the 38th chapter was my desired destination.
As
eventide turned towards midnight, the lids of my weary eyes felt as if they were cloaked in the great weight of granite; yet that region of our cerebellum that motivates
us beyond exhaustion was ignited as my memories of Miss Havisham’s cry to Pip (found in the 38th chapter),
in the perfect Dickens dialogue, hung before my mind’s eye— “Let her call me mad, let her call me mad!”
Not only is “Great
Expectations” one of my favorite novels, the 38th chapter of
this classic may be my favorite in all the books I have read in my lifetime.
Great books have great chapters—an accomplishment that I hope one day to
achieve in my own writing. The talented
storyteller conveys his story in such a way that we desire to travel to the Next Chapter. The skilled writer
recognizes when to insert the chapter break; serving to provide the reader a
resting place or, with even greater skill, a launching place.
Book chapters come in many styles. There are the great ones,
like the aforementioned 38th chapter of Great Expectations. And there are also the not-so-great chapters. These are typically filled with what move-makers would designate B-roll. There are long chapters and short chapters. There is the
first chapter and the last chapter. There are chapters that you will not
remember and there are chapters that you will never want to forget. There are
the chapters that make you want to move, without pause, onto the Next Chapter. And then there are chapters that you never want to
end.
But tonight I am not here to write about books.
When I look back at my life I do not see it measured in
years, but instead, as chapters. There have been some good ones and bad ones. There were long chapters and
others were so brief I wonder if I was even there when they unrolled. There have been some
that I don’t remember and others that I
don’t want to remember. 1975, 1982 and 2005 would fall into the murkiness
of one of these two categories.
There were chapters that had me begging for the Next Chapter. 2014 tops the list of
these. Not because I desired more but because I wanted to slam the cover shut upon it. It was miserably slowed by a nurse with a needle. All I could do was
hope it would surely come to a close
.
There have even been great chapters, although they never
seemed to also be a long chapter. And there were those that could called B-roll chapters. With manufactured optimism
I try to think of these as learning
chapters. But with well-developed pragmatism I know that what they really
were… a waste of time.
The last three years of my life, my current chapter, (even
with cancerous 2014 sitting near the rise) is probably the greatest chapter that
I have ever lived. God is the author of my life and although I don’t always
agree with his prose, chapter breaks, or his use of poetic humor, I accept it for
what it is. After all, he already knows how this book ends.
On July 26th
of 2013, God introduced a new character onto the storyboard called my life, a little baby named Logan James. I have ten grandchildren, each one is a blessing and I love each
one with a love I did not know I possessed. But you see, Logan James came into
my life during a chapter that needed him the most. And God knew that…and God
did that.
This chapter was such that with each passing day I wanted to
know more. I wanted the Storyteller to take me by the hand and show me
everything. I wanted to know what was next in the life of Logan James. Each
night, for three years, I have closed my eyes, wishing for the Next Chapter.
I guess I should have used more care in what I wished for.
The last few weeks have beckoned a new a call to a new
chapter. Or as some would say (even when I didn’t want them to), life is always changing, you cannot halt its
stride. This new call singing in my ears is not a joyous call, but it
is one that I knew was coming. The words were clearly written on the final few
pages of this last chapter, I just didn’t want to heed them.
Oh, what a grand chapter this has been. If I could tell my
story to Dickens I think he may be jealous. Three years may seem long to the
reader, but for me, it was oh so brief. I cannot find the words to describe how
this last chapter changed me…but I can tell you this, because I know it better than any
other great truth…
I did not want it to end.
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