Where Do You Hang Your Heart

Way back in the dark ages, somewhere around 1976, I was a mere four years old and shared a bedroom with my two-year-old sister in the second floor apartment where we lived with my mother. We were typical toddlers: mischievous, early birds.

One morning we got the bright idea to open the window, and proceeded to throw everything in the bedroom out. I'm sure you can imagine the thrill that two kids of that age would have at tossing things out a window that high and watching as they drop to the ground. Everything in the room ultimately ended up on the ground beneath that window, from toys to cloths, bedding to dresser drawers, and even mattresses.

Well, almost everything. The bed frames and dressers proved too much for us to lift. Nevertheless, by the time we were done we had quite a pile made, something I found a malicious glee in pondering as I leaned out that window, inspecting our work.

That was when I felt two cold, wicked little hands on my back, and the next thing I knew I had nothing beneath me, but air. Now, remember that cartoon where that coyote runs of the cliff, stops, looks around a little then runs back? By the grace of God, I'm alive today to tell you that's a lie.

Once my body cleared that window, there was no defying gravity. My next stop was definitely the ground, but amazingly all that stuff broke my fall. I managed to avoid breaking any bones, but when I sat up and shook my head to clear the cobwebs, it was only then that I noticed my upper lip, split in two and flapping in the wind.

Eight stitches and thirty years later I still have a scar to remind me that my life could have ended before it began. We're not promised tomorrow; we're not even guaranteed to make it through today. Perhaps instead of fighting a losing battle to make more money and acquire more things, we should be more concerned about eternity.