I like this picture for a number of reasons. Probably not the least of which is that it reminds me of the old manual typewriter we had in the back room of our house when I was growing up. Oh, those keys - you had to really pound them in order to successfully get ink on paper. And that ribbon- if you remember the machine, then you also remember the ribbon would snag and snarl and your fingers would get black and messy as you tried to fix it. Then there was the problem of accidentally hitting two keys at once (which wasn't hard to do); they would slam up and hit the roller at the same time and interlock just so, and once again you'd have to get your hands in there to unhook them and return them to their rightful place. It was a slow, painstaking process to get a typewritten letter out in one try for most people.
Except for my dad.
He was a World War II vet who, in his retirement free time, simply loved taking on the insurance company, the local borough and township offices, and any place else he could send a letter to in order to get things straightened out. It didn't matter that he knew zero keyboarding techniques and only used his pointer finger on each hand. My mother and I used to shake our heads in wonder as we listened to him from the living room. One time I looked at her and said, "You'd never know he wasn't using all ten, would you?" That man could make those windshield-wiper-looking letter arms fly like there was no tomorrow.
And take on the typewritten world, he did.
What I also love about this picture is that taking out two letters changes the definition 180 degrees. It repositions the entire focus and meaning of the word. That simple act of cutting off the front takes me from defeat to promise, from discouragement to hope. From impossible to possible.
On the other hand, why should I cross out those areas of my life that to me seem impossible? After all how can I, in my finite mind, know what is possible and what isn't? Why not just throw it all in the "possible" column until proven otherwise? That would be perhaps healthier and definitely a more hopeful approach to life. Why kill the dream before I've even tried because I think it can't be done?
I must realize I don't know the future, but I know One who does. I can dare to dream. I can dare to do the
impossible. And if it's meant to happen, it will.
Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” Matthew 19:26