From Random House Webster's Unabridged Dictionary:
Kismet (kis´met,
-met, kis´-), n, fate; destiny. Also, kismat (kiz´mət, kis´-), [1840-50; Turk, Pers qismat, Ar qismah
division, portion, lot, fate, akin to qasama
to divide].
Kismet, as a word, has existed since the mid-19th
century; I suspect kismet as a concept has existed much longer than that.
Fate. Destiny. Lot. Portion. A belief that coincidence and
random exist only in that they fulfill a fated outcome. My novel is built on
this premise, perhaps because I believe in the concept, having experienced a
number of events I initially perceived as unfair, or tragic, that later proved
to be, as Oprah might describe, "aha moments", or, as I refer to
them: the slap-upside-the-head I needed to redirect my focus, and realign my
life-trajectory in keeping with my purpose, and core-values.
I won't wax-long on the events that nudged—and in
some cases head-butted—me in a different direction than I thought I wanted, or
believed was the logical, loved-one-approved course; suffice it to say some of
them hurt. A lot. Others were less immediate and injurious, external issues and
internal inconsistencies too-long ignored, that eventually rose up to slap me
down. And from the ground, you have a great, all-encompassing view of what's
important—if you roll on your back, and look up.
That is the theme in my novel, Everything That Matters…love, born out of tragedy…because
sometimes what at first blush appears a tragic happenstance, leads to something
wonderful; a life reimagined, and better than might have been experienced had
the tragedy not occurred. Here is a moment when the heroine in my novel is offered a different perspective to her belief that she is a victim of circumstance:
Excerpt, Everything That Matters, copyrighted material...
Father Ramirez patted Dianna's hand, beamed up at her. "I'm
glad he brought you here," he said.
"Mr. Douglas?"
Father Ramirez glanced skyward. Dianna arched her eyebrows, looked
around the compound. Compared to her arrival, it was a portrait in serenity.
Chickens clucked as they clawed and pecked at the hard-packed earth, geese
honked softly as they waddled to and fro like long-necked Centurions, their black beady
eyes alert for intruders; the sow dozed in a hollow dug from the earth
alongside the Hacienda, seemingly unfazed by the squirming pink mass of piglets
crowded between her fore and hind legs.
Mr. Douglas emerged from a low-roofed barn leading Sonny, Mateo
behind him with the saddled roan; a pair of small dogs, one white and one
brindled, trotted behind them. The door of the Hacienda opened, and Luisa came
out to stand in the shade of the porch, Lazaro hooked on one round hip. The rest of the
children loitered near the gate, presumably waiting to say goodbye. Dianna looked
back at the tiny cleric.
"You think God brought me here?" she asked.
He smiled.
She shook her head. "I am here," she said,
"because of choices other people made." She looked at Mr.
Douglas.
"There is always choice, hija," Father Ramirez said
quietly. "Even if alternatives are painful or unsavory, they are within
your power to choose."
She frowned, her gaze on Mr. Douglas.
Had she chosen him?
Kismet or coincidence? I know what I believe; what do you?
Please share in the
comments.
D.
It is often hard to
distinguish between the hard knocks in life and those of opportunity. ~Frederick
Phillips
2 comments:
Great post! Sometimes it's hard to understand why things happen the way they do, but I believe there's always a lesson to be learned.
There is definitely a lesson to be learned. And thank you, Lara. I so appreciate your comments. *hug*
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