An Autobiography

Somehow I gathered enough of my own conceit together to think that I could draft my own biography. It was a rather simple draft, just a basic outline and some notations. My autobiography was going to be titled The Truth and would consist of four chapters. I would begin with a prologue to explain a few things, a prologue titled Time.The first chapter was going to be titled Testimony for my earliest memory pertains to my salvation at age three. The second chapter would deal with some of the scars in my life and would be titled Trauma. The third chapter would be titled Tragedy. The fourth and final chapter would be titled Triumph. Notice how the entire piece alliterated. What a fool!

Now, in retrospect, for I drafted this when I was in my late teens, I see how much of a fool I was. My story should begin as it began for Shakespeare's Macbeth. It should be - and it is - "a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." Certainly my tale is told by an idiot, but it does, I believe, signify something. It signifies quite a bit, in fact. But everything of significance in it is due to Him. Not to me. It is now His story. I'll let Him draft out the pages, polish them up, and then sign it off in the end.