Ten Years Tired

There is an appointed time for everything, and there is a time for every event under heaven…

every.catastrophic.event.

Every curtain closes.  Darkness and black rise to the stage.  Their performance sways and jerks rhythmically in a choreographed dance with drunken shadows…. reeling from the intoxication of tragedy.  Looking for hand in front of face through thick  moonless black where no form can be seen.  Close your eyes and see the outline.  Its there….just close your eyes …

Close your eyes.

This kind of intoxication slows you, makes you forget things you once knew, things that belonged to you, sharpened your senses…now dull with slowed reactions. An all consuming exhaustion creeps itself right into mind, muscles, marrow…nestling itself into the frame that holds you straight.

And you somehow get used to the massive weight of it. A weight that bends you. smites you…. hangs your ambitions on a cross and slowly crucifies worldly gain. You can’t drag your own bloodied feet off this path marked with holy blood. This is what you do,

because its what He chose. 

and in the choosing we do not find fault.

But… we do mourn. and sometimes there are days that remind us of the loss,

and the ache

and the overwhelming tired,

and we sit down and try to untangle the mess of it all like trying to untangle a gold necklace with an expensive jewel hanging off the end.  I really like this necklace but I can’t untangle it…is there hope of ever wearing it again?

Stick it back in a drawer and try another day…its still there.  It will always be there because we can’t throw away something so lovely, so meaningful, so beautiful…because when the light shines on it, it captures beautiful things in what used to be…

cuz used to be belongs to Him.

Even if we only ever get to take it out and admire its mess

and hold it up to the light…

on one of those reminder days…

Kind of like us. We used to capture smiles for pictures with frames.  We used to gather with the the ones who knew what was in our souls.  Sweet.familiar.friends.  the ones you talked about unmentionable moments with, cuz they understood…they didn’t shame you.  The sameness in all of us was,

well, the same.

Conversations were real and dirty and good and the best part was feeling like you just took a long satisfying nap after this kind of gathering.

Best friends turned into ghosts.  Are you still there?

We groan. we sleep. Tomorrow comes and we groan and sleep. The night invades through a hope filled sky of color too beautiful for words.  Mixtures of glowing orange and tired pinks interwoven with leftover afternoon blue…the sun, in its obedience, tucks itself on the other side of massive round…as dusk brings a quiet and confident rest in hope beyond hope and the God that calls that which doesn’t exist into being.

Just close your eyes.  There is an outline.

A broken video camera, leaves moving images of memories stuck on a ten year pause.  Golf clubs collect 5200 weeks of dust.  Can I swing with all my might and watch that ball fly away only to be sunk down into another hole?

Ten years of time measured in shortened phrases…

Before the accident…and…after the accident.  We lost something the night tissue slid over tissue in a tangled mess of hair like axons and neurons creating bleeding lesions that made dark ambiguous graves for dying cells.

There is an appointed time for every event under heaven.

Even brain injury.

And we lay ourselves down in graves next to cells…that we may be shaped into an outline that becomes visible only in the black when you close your eyes in prayer

and agree…

about that appointed time for everything….

for now anyway…

and its a glorious image…am I weak enough to look like Him?