The Folded Page
There is an old poem by an unknown author called “The Folded Page” . Here is a paraphrase of it: Up in the attic of an old house, as raindrops pattered down on the roof I sat paging through my old schoolbook. I came to a page that was folded down, across it was written in my own childish hand; the teacher says we should leave this row for now; it’s too hard to understand. I unfolded the page and read it then smiled and nodded my head and said, the teacher was right; now I understand.
There are many pages in the book of life that are hard to understand. All we can do is fold them down and write; the master says to leave this for now, it’s too hard to understand. Then someday in heaven we’ll unfold the pages, reread them and say, the Master was right, now I understand.