Short Stories

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The human brain weighs approximately eight pounds. Amazing, mine feels like it has about eight hundred pounds in it. Did you ever think of how much information your brain (personally) can handle? Is it capable of computing more data than this computer I hate so much? When I look back, I can plainly see that I have input much more into this eight-pound mass I call my brain, than this computer, which clearly weighs more than eight pounds, (I should know, I've moved them both more than their share of times.)

I carry around a wealth of information, both useless and beneficial. Some of the things I know and have been exposed to would scare the bugaboos out of any world renowned "computer nerd." As I sit here now, I think; "How many more megabytes can I possibly store within this eight pounds?" Shouldn't I have contracted a "virus" by now?, Isn't my circuitry on overload?

Ah, yes, that's it; a communication breakdown from by brain to the rest of my network. Now, how do I get it back on line? Was I ever there to begin with?

Have you ever looked at the entrails of a computer? OH MY. So many leads, wires and circuit board gadgets. I am not a computer whiz, if you haven't already guessed. However, I have studied the human psychosis extensively, if for no other purpose than self analysis, or worse yet, diagnosis. Which, is the most dangerous of hobbies. And frankly, I find the brain to be much more a challenge; regardless of the fact that I am PC challenged.

If you plan on being analytical with yourself; keep in mind a few guidelines. Number one; you are your worst critic. Number two; it's deep, dirty, sewer like work, and number three (and most important) it's not a pretty site sometimes. It's worse than an autopsy or dissecting that rat in biology. Be prepared and have plenty of antacids on hand.

I have done, or had done to me, almost every vial thing possible. I am not boasting of this, nor do I make light of any of it in any way. They have been devastatingly hard lessons for me to learn. A part of me says that I HATE so many things that are a part of my life; yet, another, insane (or maybe the most sane part of my eight-pound mass) says; "Praise the Lord" for all that pain, physically and mentally. I believe that ANYTHING, yes even everything, can be used (especially if you allow God to use it) for the utmost good.

This is a scary conviction. I have to face this belief of mine, almost daily. Can my flat tire be used for the good? Can my obnoxious six year old or my teenage girl and her "attitude" be used for the good? Can my mental instability be used for any good what so ever to anyone except a professional psychiatrist which is going to be driving a Porch soon, while I am putzing my way down the road in my old jalopy, be for the good?

Every time, even when I don't see it immediately, the answer has to be a resounding, YES!! (Lord, just let it be a purple Porch, for my sake). This can't all be in vain, can it? There has to be a higher, more meaningful purpose, than just the rantings of a deemed "mad woman." Even Jesus got "mad." Several people thought He was off his rocker, totally lost it and bound for destruction. When, in fact, if you study the Word, you discover, in the long or short of it, He was the only one that made any sense. Maybe that's why the early Christians were called "The Way."

Thus, my story begins. A story of a journey. A journey that I am certain, as are you of your journey, that has a deeper meaning. An unexpected path, a more fulfilling outcome than what "society" would lead us to believe. A traverse that takes us beyond what others and our selves would deem possible and attainable." A survival story, if you will, of being where we never imagined ourselves to be and living to tell about it.
So, join me now in Coming Back From Where I've Never Been.

copyright 2004 Pastor Brenda Libby

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