This is a story; it is not the story, for no life can be characterized by a single story. It is one that I started to see unfold when I walked into an unlikely room to listen to the story of another. It is not neatly packaged. It is far from tidy. But I do not need the balm of cynicism to endure its pages. Because it has been significantly rich. And because it is mine.

In his biographical novel of Michelangelo, Irving Stone unveils a discussion between the young apprentice and his teacher, Bertoldo. “To try to understand another human being, to grapple for his ultimate depths, that is the most dangerous of human endeavors,” the instructor counseled as he brushed strokes of wisdom on his student.2

So I start with the ever-important beginning that is mine and yours to claim.

Once upon a time . . .


The Scent of Water
Copyright © 2010 by Naomi Zacharias
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