I walked in the double glass doors of the cafeteria and headed for the trays and silverware. Generous portions of thick fried noodles, fluffy white steamed rice, oily green beans, and sweet and sour tofu were ladled onto a plastic plate. A tug of sadness tinged my thoughts as I realized this would be the last time I came through line, ready for another $5 meal. As I headed to the pastries to pick up a slice of pie or two for Sabbath's dessert, thoughts jostled and elbowed to express themselves. After I pulled a pale pink cafeteria chair up to one of the thirty look-alike cafeteria tables, the thoughts began to coalesce.
We are each writing a book of our lives. Each of us chooses what to write in that book and when to start a new chapter. We hold the pen poised each morning as we faced with a clean white sheet that waits for us to continue the story. Will we follow a predictable story line or will there be unexpected twists and turns around the corner? Will today be one where an exciting change is clearly seen in us or will we be predictably dull? Will we laugh uncontrollably or cry inconsolably? Who will we declare our forever love to and who will be crossed out of our books with thick black ink? Will we be satisfied with the experiences scribed on the page at the end of a long day or will we wish it were not indelible ink and we could erase a section here, delete a section there?
R.D. Cumming said, "A good book has no ending."
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