Baggage check

Did you have a record player when you were a kid?  I did – the case mine came in (it was portable) was two-toned blue plastic.  It used to be my brother’s, and he gave it to me for a birthday gift.  It didn’t matter that it was a hand-me-down.  It was be best thing I’d ever been given.

As careful as I was with my records – I think I owned two – it wasn’t long before I found out what happens when you bump a record player while it’s playing.  It’s a funny zipping sound:  not good.

Forever after, when the needle on that plastic arm gets to that point, the needle will skip along that groove to wherever it ended.  There’s no going back.

When I read today’s entry, something clicked for me, in terms of emotional baggage.  Instead of being frustrated with my lack of ability to control my reaction to something, I need to recognize it for what it is:  hard-wired into my emotional self.  For the time being, anyway. 

I’m looking forward to hearing what Neil has to say in the next few days; for now, though, I’m going to ask God to show me where my scratches are.