No talking in class

If you are one of my regular readers it is safe to say that you’re familiar with my proclivity for recognizing instances of divine intervention.

As of late, I’ve been contending with a host of issues, all of them related to “getting out of my own way”.

Complaining has been my tool of choice, while the tool of appreciation has languished.

I’ve cried out silently, mumbled, and in some instances, I’ve shouted out to God and the Universe (the two are interchangeable) in puzzled bewilderment…

“Where is my breakthrough?”

“Where is that moment of reckoning where I have it all figured out?”

In response I receive, deafening silence…

And admittedly I want…

Instinctively I feel – as if I need more than that.

When I woke up this morning those words rolled off my lips, again.


I blinked hard at the ceiling after opening my eyes. I listened intently with a sense of giddy foreboding, as I felt that an answer was forthcoming.

Then nothing.

I popped my vitamins, ate some breakfast, made my lunch – and still nothing.

As I left out the door to head to the office, I looked up into the overcast sky, waiting for a sign…


Still nothing.

Then something.

I recalled something that my parents would often tell me in my youth.

A familiar refrain that any parent worth their salt will relay to their child.

“Make sure you pay attention in class, don’t get distracted!”

Life and our experiences are the classroom.

It was at that moment, while I was barreling down the Interstate at 65-70 MPH, that I got my divine intervention.

My problem is ME.

I’m talking in class, via the medium of complaining and thusly, I’m missing the lesson.

Game point for the Almighty.

As for me.

I’m turning my desk around and pivoting my head to the front, because graduation time is around the corner.


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