And daily I send prayers of hope that whispers of chance are truly the voices of angels… Chances

A chance stumbled upon me. Quietly at first, whispering in my ear with words of promise. I brushed it away the first time, maybe even the second, dismissing it as an annoyance, nothing more than a distraction. It came again in the night, in dreams. I listened to it at two a.m. when all the voices in my house were quiet and lost in their own dreams. It told me of the future, showed me glimpses of a life I could have, should have.

The chance took on life; it took my life. The possibility of what could be grew strong within me. It called to me for months, echoing its potential. It gathered in my heart, in my spirit, moving me into the next world. After months of it resounding within me, it took root and grew.

It kept me company while I made my plans. Taking my hand it outlined the future, showed me the path to walk. Nudged me along when I felt uncertainty. Promised me happiness if I followed it.

Is it a trick of fairies to whisper chances to us?  Is it our own spirit leading us to our true life, the one we were sent here to live? I sit alone now in coffee shops by lakes, not by my mountains. I write words of loneliness, of building a new life, while ties still tether me to my old one. I listened to the chance that came to me and gave it life, wings to fly.  Was it foolishness that led me on my road? Or a life that truly could be?

He waits at home in the mountains, quietly, patiently.  Waiting for the day that we will be together again. He has become the guardian of the house, repairing it when necessary, supporting my young-adult children when they need his help, talking to my old cat.  I try not to measure the lost days, the days he and I will never have together.

“Think of what we will have,” he tells me.  “The life we are building, our future together.”

Is that what chances are about? New life?  New direction? But, is there always a price to pay?  The better the chance, the higher the cost?  Like unmapped roads, do they conceal a right way, a wrong one?  How long do you need to stand at the crossroads in stillness, waiting for angels to whisper, showing you the way?

I can feel the life I want, the promise made by chance, the whisper. My days now are spent in creativity, and they are my own. And so very far from the days when corporate ran my life. Still, will it be enough? Will the dream become a life, or is this just illusion?

In the quiet of the morning right before dawn I listen for the whisper, the direction it will take me, take him. I live on faith now. I trust this new road will eventually lead to life with him  before all  is lost.

And daily I send prayers of hope that whispers of chance are truly the voices of angels.

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