“All my tears are falling on the floor,” she said. “I never felt it rain like this before,” she said. “I’ll sing these black-eyed blues into the storm instead. I’ve been waiting for the new eyes to arrive one breath at a time.” – She Said, Jon Foreman
One breath at a time. That is how we live life. We have grand illusions that meaning is found in the shape of our bodies or in our career or in a new hairstyle. We buy a new pair of shoes and step out into the street and the heel breaks off. And we curse because we didn’t see the crack in the pavement even though it’s been there for years. But that is where life is lived; in the cracks.
”The wise person has his eyes in his head, but the fool walks in darkness. And yet I perceived that the same event happens to all of them. Then I said in my heart, “what happens to the fool will happen to me also. Why then have I been so very wise?” And I said in my heart that this also is vanity. For of the wise as of the fool there is no enduring remembrance, seeing that in the days to come all will have been long forgotten. How the wise dies just like the fool! So I hated life, because what is done under the sun was grievous to me, for all is vanity and a striving after wind.” Ecclesiastes 2:14-17
A lot has happened since I wrote last. I’ve lost several people I loved. They are gone and nothing I write will make them come back. I’ve been trying to protect my heart from the pain but that feels rather foolish. This has manifested in raw anger and hostility. No one can see it of course. I tuck it in like wrinkled shirt tails and throw on a snazzy jacket. But it’s there.
Several people I love are very sick. I’m not worried. I’m not anxious. I’m just mad. I’m in the cracks again. And I keep telling myself it’s not about me. “Have a little compassion,” I say to myself. But there is a blister on my heart that’s turned into a callous and I won’t let the pain rub me because I don’t want it to break open. Anger is easy. It’s a comfortable coat of armor. It repels the storm—or so I tell myself.
I’m not alone. The meme’s I see in social media are powerful indicators of what is lurking in the human heart.
People love “out” doors. They walk out of marriages, jobs, friendships, and out of difficult situations all the time. Things get tough and they skedaddle. Then they spend years justifying it.
I recently had lunch with a colleague. She was really upset about the Dobbs vs. Jackson decision and vowed to take on the fight for women’s rights. Halfway through her rant (for it was most certainly a rant) she looked at me and said, “Well, maybe you and I are on opposite sides of this debate because you are religious.” She said religious like it was a flesh eating bacteria I had contracted and I might accidentally get some on her. I hadn’t said a word and I empathized with her anger and frustration. She felt like something had been stolen and I know how that feels. But also I saw in my mind’s eye a friend standing at my desk years earlier with tears pouring down her face because she had scalding pain and regret from an abortion. She was absolutely shattered by that decision and there was nothing she could do about it. There is something very final about death. It leaves a gaping hole whether we like it or not.
I told my colleague that story and she shared with me her own abortion. She had gotten pregnant at 17 by “a stupid boy” and she knew her parents would never allow an abortion so she asked her sister for help. They went to the clinic and took care of the problem and she has never regretted it. Then she looked at me and said, “And I’m very happy now. I have a very comfortable life.” She is very proud of her “out” door. And even though I thought I had been gracious and listened and told her I loved her and would never judge her for that decision, she collected a new “out” door and walked right out of relationship with me.
Another death. Nothing I can do to stop it. And I write that knowing someone will stop reading because they feel I’m a monster for consider a baby in the womb a child that deserves the right to be born.
I am losing people I love one breath at a time. And suddenly my anger has morphed into sadness. What could I have done differently to make them stay? Could I change who I am? Would I want to? Should I stop being honest? Would lying help? But I’ve been that person and I didn’t like her very much. I know from experience that pretending for a living can get very confusing. Eventually, one doesn’t know who they are anymore.
I’m fresh out of hope and inspiration. My emotions are like the flood waters rising. I’m waiting for a boat but all I see is more water…and dead fish floating.
The other night I went down to the lake to see how high the water had risen. It was all the way up and over the gravel path. There was a woman there who had just been dropped off by a man on a Harley. She was untangling her fishing pole. She looked out of place. She was wearing spiked high heels and a skin tight mini skirt. She had a leopard print, cleavage bearing top and a face full of pancake makeup with blurred lipstick. I was concerned for her so I approached.
She said, “The fishing pole got tangled on the bike.”
”Would you like some help?” I offered.
”No, I can get it.”
And I stood there feeling this swell of loneliness. What had brought her to this lake at dusk with a broken fishing pole? Who was the man who drove away and left her? What would she do if she actually caught a fish? I don’t know why, but I wanted to save her. But did she really even need saving?
So I said, “Good luck” and walked away. Because I didn’t know what I was doing there either. I had gone to see the flood but it hadn’t changed me.
This is life in the cracks. Death and dying. Loneliness in the aftermath for those left behind.
Jon Foreman sang, “Don’t let your spirit die before your body does,” in his song, “Terminal”. Is that what this is?
I guess one has to die before they can really live. So today I mourn.
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die.” Ecclesiastes 3:1-2
But there is also a promise:
”Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” – Matthew 5:4
I’m waiting, Lord.
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