A Visitor

This afternoon, during an idle moment, I started a prayer: “Thanks, Lord, for coming into my life….”  Stop!  Who’s coming into whose life?  Am not I the intruder, coming into the life of an ageless being, who arranged things so that I could begin to exist?  Am I comporting myself like the guest that I am, or do I think I’m the owner of this neck of the woods?

I exist among others in the same situation, so let me be hospitable, humble, friendly, kind (the Scout Law) and obedient to the laws not only of my vicinity, but of my professed religion.  A son learns to be independent by first being obedient.

I am not the only thinker who imagines sometimes he is the solely responsible person in his world (Marx, Sartre, Nietzsche, Foucault), but I’d better get it straight that I’m only a visitor.

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