From The Threshold , volume one, “Time is once – reach for hope.”
Chapter 4: Farewell, Love: Travel-Bound, pages 71-73
The last snows of complacency and the bad luck of injuries melted. A season of a fresh new direction had arrived and was forcing my growth. My emotions were tearing. I needed to be fair with Hope and cut our ties. I couldn’t be what I was a few years ago or what she wanted me to be.
I still had a genuine true love for Hope; she was the first. Through her, my undiscovered territory of “being in love” happiness was recognized. Her love filled spaces I did not know were empty. The joy of having her love on my mind brought a happiness that was a great life pleasure. I poured out my captive emotions. Loving was an overwhelming and unstoppable power that found completion. Our faithfulness was perfect and relentless.
We were running hot with high hopes, and our whole lives were ahead of us. I had the once-in-a-lifetime love that many people can only wish for. But I couldn’t continue to falsely indulge in what was once a destiny of love. There was something over my head and over my heart telling me to let go.
Our love should have made the waiting for the rest of life to unfold a worthy goal. Our intertwined lives tried to work out differences born out of time and change. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of playing house or living for the expectations that were acceptable. I couldn’t fit into the mold of designer love.
I knew I’d relive a sense of regret from walking away from true love. Looking into Hope’s eyes was like looking at a shattered mirror waving good-bye. Our hearts could not be any closer, but my mind grew far apart, separated by independence and curiosity. The split was made.
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Can’t Frame The Wind
I got a pain in my back, and my truck don’t run, Load of worries on my mind, must weigh a ton, But I still think of you, on top of it all, Wondering what I really saw.
Times are getting harder, each and every day. Can’t help from thinking, will I find the way,
Home, your loving arms, you’re still on my mind. My troubles on my back keep me down the line.
The picture you painted, with your diamond ring, wasn’t me. You Can’t Frame the Wind—it’s meant to be free.
Your image of happy was good, but didn’t look like me. You Can’t Frame the Wind—it’s meant to be free.
Your sweet loving arms once waited for me there. That’s what made me go, I said it with a tear.
Hurts me when I hear me tell how I feel. Truth cuts deep within, the damage is real.
Well, my back’s okay, and my truck, it runs. Don’t have any worries, all I have is fun. But I still think of you, on top of it all, Wondering what I really saw.
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Spring popped out with warmer sun-rays on my face, as it does every welcome spring in the Northeast. Life starts coming up nonstop from under the melting snow. Exhilaration is one of the benefits from living in a distinct four-season climate. Grass, flowers, and tree buds were seen opening every changing day of the week. New life comes at you, surrounding you, looking at and grabbing you. Natural life-changing cycles demand attention.
Post-winter factory hibernation caused my natural agitation to bubble within. I had a few thousand dollars in the bank and drove a good sturdy pickup truck. Driving with my windows down in the annual campaign of warming sun and fresh air, I giggled for more. A notion arrived, and it began spreading its wings.
If I didn’t change the factory, the girlfriend, and my outlook, I’d be living the same life. I didn’t want to live the same way anymore. The springtime vaulted my impulse to design a makeover blueprint. My family’s unused summer home at Galway Lake was just sitting there.
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Proverbs 16:1-3 The preparations of the heart belong to man,
But the answer of the tongue is from the Lord.
All the ways of a man are pure in his own eyes,
But the Lord weighs the spirits.
Commit your works to the Lord,
And your thoughts will be established.
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