The dining room table’s laden with legos. Basil’s home from school. His imagination’s crafted a towering structure using his imagination, not boxed instructions. I like that about him. Give him something prettily packaged and soon it’s morphed into a gazillion different objects or battles of one sort or another.
Staring at Bazy’s creation leaves me wondering what of my life I’ve limited by sticking to someone else’s packaged instructions, playing it safe, painting by numbers when I was designed to create my own masterpiece, if not for a museum, at least for a refrigerator door.
Reminds me of the story in the book of Matthew when Jesus goes back to his hometown. They’ve got their notions of who he is and The Messiah isn’t one of them. As written in the Message, “We’ve known him since he was a kid, he’s the carpenter’s son.”(Matthew 13:
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