The older I become, the more my mind tends rehearse the blessings of my life and with a growing gratitude.
Yes, once I got my head and heart aligned, I then worked hard at life, learned to look for mentors, following the successes of others who invited me along.
However, deep within there is a knowing, even a gnawing that so many of these blessings were sown by others, though reaped by me. I have tried to capture them in a few books, yet my words are never sufficient. The stories are much deeper than the necessity of brevity can provide.
Yet, the further back I go in my family's generational walk out of poverty, shouldered upon a deep faith, the more I realize the cost of that journey was paid by so many along the way who, for whatever reason never knew the benefits in their life which I have known.
Yes, my hard working ancestors struggled to capture a piece of the American dream and frankly within their story endured certain moments of unfairness and failure. They got up, brushed themselves off and jumped back into their dream.
However, that pie from which our slice was taken was baked by many others whose offspring were less fortunate, deprived of status, robbed of spoils of their labor.
My life never deserved the breaks given, but what has seemed so providential for me, "a life called out" it feels, has left so many behind that it causes me to wonder.
Surely there is a reconciling ahead that brings a justice to the ways capitalism, answering the questions in the heart of this man so blessed.