Mysterious Ways


i looked at the face of a child yesterday and thought that this is somebody who hasn’t yet unraveled the mysterious ways in which God works and still is at peace within himself

i looked at age drawn in criss-cross lines across a weather-beaten face of a woman smoking a beedi after a day of laborious work and thought that this is somebody who probably doesn’t care about the mysterious ways in which God works but has resigned herself to them anyways

i looked at the shadows skulking in alleys where even those trained to be brave tread to fear and thought that this is somebody who personally scoffed at the mysterious ways in which God works and officially pin all their deeds to the summons of a higher power

i looked at the mother looking at her child with an undefinable emotion wrenching her gut and thought that this is somebody who was neither a believer or a non-believer of the mysterious ways in which God works…but is content finding reasons to live through a soul yet to experience the world

i looked at the father who mechanically trudged back from a job that had defined the majority of his waking hours, but left him staring at the dark ceiling at night. And thought that this is somebody who probably respected the mysterious ways in which God works but was too tired and blank to articulate the raw emotion dogging him at every step

i looked at myself in the mirror and thought that here is somebody who among thousands of others are told in school that we have the liberty of choice to carve our own niche and be what we want to be. But then I think about the mysterious ways in which God works and conclude that autonomy probably comes at a price that you can never pay.

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