Living A Better Story (Original)

by Marissa Rubin

I have mass proportions of Seminary homework.  I am putting off these mass proportions of Seminary homework.  I am a 22-year old girl/lady.  You pick.

There is a lady in a sea green t-shirt and canvas Keds who is sitting across from me this very moment on a sunken, worn leather couch at Pikes Perk Coffee.  Not even twenty minutes ago, she put down her Jennifer Cruise book at the sound of her ringing cell phone.  From what I gathered from her conversation, she was speaking to a close family member about her mother’s memory loss.  She quoted, “I know it’s going out on a limb, but I want her to remember.”   She was describing how she wanted to make a document of major events in her mother’s life in hope that she just might remember.  I seriously hope that no one sees my eyes filling with this salty water at the thought of her pain.  The pensive symphonies of Sleeping At Last are streaming from my itunes, which doesn’t help the situation.

And here I am the following day, attempting to finish this blog.

On my way home from the coffee shop last night…

My gauge was on “E,” so I naturally stopped at the Shell Station.  The gas was pumping, and I hear a “Ma’am.”  I switched hands on the pump and turned to find a guy with mangy blond hair in a pony tail and severe acne.  I went through all my mental safety precautions, for my dad is a cop.  I knew the drill.  He wanted money to get to Pueblo.  I confidently asked him if five was okay?  He said yes, and I told him that I would get it once I was finished pumping.  Grateful, he returned to his beat-up pick-up where his Hispanic buddy was waiting.  When the pump clicked, I speedily jumped into my Jeep, locked the doors and rummaged through my purse for some bills.  To finish this exasperating scenario, I handed him the little cash through my slightly cracked window and told him good luck.

I was on my way home, but with the events that had just occurred, I just drove right past my house.  I felt the urge to simply drive.  I drove North, got off at an unfamiliar exit, and continued onto a back road I had never seen.  It turned into a dirt road.  I have lived in Colorado for a month, and last night, I truly experienced it’s beauty, the Creator’s majestic work for the first time since I’ve been here.  Never-ending plateaus and mountains were the backdrop of vast valleys flooded with livestock.

I had a stream of thoughts on that drive last night.

Right now, off the top of my head, I would want my life to encapsulate the elements of valiant risk, incredible adventure, bold proclamation, perpetual giving, ultimate humility, utmost integrity, consistent learning, and unfailing love.  Yes, I have dreams and aspirations.  I want to go to law school and succeed.  I want to play whatever part I can in putting an end to the horrific sex trade.  I want to travel the world.  I want to hike mountains.  I want to fly a plane.  I want to have a family.

I want all these things and more.  I think I know what that more is.  For me, it’s to know God.  It’s to hear His voice.  It’s to face everyday circumstances at Pikes Perk and the Shell Station head on.  I can’t go back.  Those divine opportunities have passed.  I don’t want them to pass any longer.  I recently read the best quote I’ve encountered in a while in which William Carey, a missionary to India states “I’m not afraid of failure; I’m afraid of succeeding at things that don’t matter.”

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