Reading has been one of my hobbies forever it seems. I like books, stories, words. Reading made me rich.
But for the past 5 months or so, I have not read a single book! No concentration. No discipline.
Could it be that my own story has made all other stories irrelevant?
We all need to know our place in this life. It took me a long time to find mine. I looked for it in words strung like a beautiful necklace, in people that walked into and out of my life, in countries wide and far that swallowed me and spat me out.
Yes, once upon a time I was rich, roaming the vast expanses of faces, books and lands searching for my story.
Today, I know my story. But Grace sold me into slavery.
The story that I am is not mine.
The story, like the slave, belongs to Him.
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