An R-Rated Lament

Hey Wordress. It’s been a while. Four months, to be exact. How is it that we meet more frequently at the crux of uncertainty and loss? Can we not dialogue when everything is peachy and life smells like roses? Or must we only dance when life smells more of fresh sweat, blood, and dirty tears. Is that not what fertilizer is? The dung from livestock to feed the new grass the livestock feed on? Perhaps I am destined to meet my wordy friend at the crossroads of when things are in question, obscure, and less certain.

We made it through another year with a rocky finish and surprising beginning. I typically try not to dance around metaphors and share more candidly, but, for now, I will keep things more vague.

I am appreciative of the reality of life never seeming to make sense to anyone at any particular age. If, in fact, it does make sense, you never hear someone say it reaches a point of being easy. I guess life would not be life without all the fertilizer. Grass is really never greener on the other side. We never arrive this side of forever. But we do have a choice to lift our heads and face the Maker of all the wonder. We may not find our answers to the most painful and delicate questions in stars, in words or human life form, but in the One who holds all those things. – The One, I am told, makes all things new. When, I cry, when? When will all things be new? Tomorrow? The day after that or the one after? How long do we toil with the darkness of humanity and question?

Grace. Grace and Hope are here. In the present, while we wait for the New. For the New we may never see in our lifetime, but there is always Grace. And there is always Hope. And, there are moments we find Faith and encounter Love. Although, those two can be deceptive and interment. Like a good wine, they, too, can wreak havoc on your soul.

“Young lovers”, the psalmist writes, “do not awaken love, before she is ready.” But when, I ask. When will love be ready? Who gets to decide this? The One I trusted with my life and love, allowed it to be taken from me. So how do I trust? How do I trust I will ever be ready to love again? And if I am, how do I let go and trust it will not be taken again?

My soul waits, but rather impatiently. I did not ask for this, I say. But care not, it seems, this Maker of all things. My soul waits.

And so I lift my cup to all that is good and hope that love lightens my door again. Today I choose to be the victor over the victim of my circumstances, and dare to live again. With Grace, I will chase after Hope, Faith and Love with tenacity in all of their tumultuous fervor. I will strive to not get too lost in all of their bewilderment. I will strive to listen for guidance on where to step, to proceed or step back. I will search for light to illuminate the steps, but, God, help my mind not to over analyze and fuck it all up.

And so, Life, we meet again.