It seems that way sometimes though – doesn’t it? Nobody said life was going to be fair. Or that the person in charge of cutting equal-sized pie wedges really knew what he or she was doing. What nobody also didn’t tell us though, was how to get over something once we found that it wasn’t fair. And how to cut your own piece of pie next time –ascertaining ‘fairness’ makes it to your plate.
But it just seems, however, that there are self-appointed pie cutters in this universe. Who died and left them boss, is what I would love to know. I suppose it’s the man upstairs – no, not my landlord—I’m talking God. He left it all to us to decide who would cut the pie and who would wait to see what type piece we’ld get.
Later that evening after our prayers of beseeching, such as; “Why Lord, why did this guy get a much heftier piece of pie, while mine, measly—you could count the apple slices”, or “why, Lord, why is she so naturally blond”, or the favorite “why does that guy have more money than me, whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy”? Then once we’re done fist punching the air and throwing, what looks like from afar to be an adult temper tantrum, up close its just disturbing – we’re left to be bitter or better with it all – in its entirety from money- to hair color- to pie.
No illuminating answers from above, no highway billboards declaring the Lord loves us and drive safe – its supposed to be a given – to drive safe…, only silence and crickets…that’s all. And though many a times in mine own life, I asked these questions myself, especially the hair color, not so much pie—pie is fattening…, I’ve come to understand a couple of things which I think can help shed some light and understanding over this madness. One is that pie is fattening and the other thing is to be grateful for what we have already because what we have is what we need. And, lastly, if we don’t have it yet but believe we deserve it– then claim it, don’t complain it. If we could use a knife, then we can cut our own slice …
That’s it – that’s all I can offer – I’m going to bed.
Good night John Boy …hey didn’t John Boy get the biggest room in the house—I suppose he needed it, he was the writer after all.