Have you ever read a book when you already know the ending? It's sort of a hazard of the job for me. Maybe not a hazard. Just something that goes with the job. Hazards makes it seem bad. It's actually the opposite. I rather enjoy rereading books and stories. The ending of books or stories has been on my mind recently, specifically with the story of Jesus. One thing that strikes me about the story of Jesus is that I'm supposed to know it. I mean, it's a story I've been reading all my life. At least, I've been reading the same parts all my life. Bits and pieces. Over and over again. Not only do I read the story, but different people read it to me. Bits and pieces. Over and over again. I study it; I listen to other people talk about the pieces they have studied. I talk about the story with other people who know about the story, too. Bits and pieces. Over and over again. It's a story we know the ending to. At least I know part of the ending.
"A painting is more than the sum of its parts." This is a quote from one of my favorite young adult books. The father in the story says this to his daughter, Juli, to help her understand the value of seeing who people really are by looking deeper. He is, obviously, a painter. He goes on to explain that a cow by itself is just a cow, and the meadow by itself is just grass and flowers, and the sun peeking through the trees is just a beam of light, but put them all together and you have magic.
I want magic.
Bits and pieces. Over and over again. I feel like I have stared at, studied and talked about, poured into, and struggled to only see a beam of light or a meadow all my life. I've seen the parts, and I've added them together. I knew that I wasn't seeing the whole painting, but I couldn't figure out how to express what I was missing.
Back to the ending thing. I think the ending has to do with the way you view the parts. If the parts are just added up as parts, it only yields parts. Confusing? Maybe. I don't want part of the ending.
I want magic.
