It started out as a joke. I suppose some of the longest lived traditions had similar beginnings.
The multi-colored chain links seemed to span eternity in the significance of each paper folded piece and it was a constant reminder of just how much time I had left until I would return back to my home, my family, my life filled with non-Korean, non-missionary like tasks.
But yet as each chain link is broken it provides a reminder of just how tangible time is, how short even the longest second is and how it goes
moving always consistently
stampeding, crawling, rushing,
unfeeling, regardless of our
desires to change, it is
immovable in its flippancy.
The links between now and my future fate. The cord connecting now with what has gone before and the eternal potential of tomorrow.
And it's an ethereal reality- a dream waiting to be lived since childhood which came all too quickly and what you thought was standing on your doorstep is now walking around your house, remodeling, re-painting, tearing out cupboards, cleaning out closets and you know it will leave before you are ready.
It seems all too much like a dream to be real, but the pinches and pokes, jabs, sneers, rejection, and tears let you know you're awake. And then one day you really wake up and there are no more links in the chain, it's over, and your time is up.
Time to start all over.
