Take the pen back

Some kids' books let you pick the path. Open the door, turn to page twelve. Run for the woods, turn to page thirty. Your life ran on a rigged version. Stress, same page. Good news, same page. Boredom, a long day, a Friday night. Every path circled back to the same page.

It felt like choosing. It wasn't. The cigarette held the pen and let you think you were writing. You were a character, never the author. Quitting is taking it back. Not changing one habit. Changing who writes.

Now the pages go wherever you send them. Stress can end in a hard workout. A bad day can end in an early night. A Friday can end somewhere you've never been. And you're not writing alone. God's hand is on this part of the story too. Every path is open again.

Write one new page today. Take a moment that always led back to the old page, and send it somewhere else on purpose. After dinner, walk. After an argument, call someone. Bring Him into it. Write the next page with me. New chapter, in your handwriting.