These days I have less and less to say. The writing I do fills my journal pages, hidden from the public eye. The thoughts that cross my mind either remain in my mind, or are shared with individuals around me. I struggle to find the desire to write publicly, and I can hardly bring myself to journal here.
Sitting outside in the middle of the yard, watching the red and gold leaves fall around me, I think, Life is tough. Driving through the fog and the mist in the early morning, words spill from my heart, I don't know how this is going to end. Late at night in my bed, as I listen to music through my earbuds, and squeeze my eyes shut so as to keep from crying, my mind shouts the question that so distressingly bothers me, How can God ever turn this around for the good? And yet, every day I lift my head, find things to do - and somehow find joy in the day. It's strange, even when I want to be miserable and unhappy, there are times when the joy just sneaks up on me. I wake up early, unable to sleep, and I sigh with pleasure as I mix up a batch of pancakes. A tinge of excitement comes over me as I drive home to my family... Watch out, kiddos, I mean to whop you all at Old Maid this evening! Cookies come out of the oven perfect, and satisfaction relaxes my mind.
What is all this? Why does it work this way? How does peace come even when trouble shadows the horizon? How does laughter find me when misery seems to be a better companion?
The problems and shadows are too great for me to fix. There isn't much to do... I can fight and claw for the safety to remain, but steadily it slips away, leaving nothing but unpredictability and uncertainty in its wake. Expectations create a misty view of the future, and yet as I walk closer to them, they fuzzily disperse and show the remains to be but rubble. In my imagination I dream the best for me and my family. When I dwell on the terrible things that could happen, even then I imagine the best possible outcome for the terrible happenings. Hopes follows hope and yet half the time those hopes are wrecked. Even the times that my hopes are fulfilled beyond my imaginations, unexpected problems find their way inside to shadow my joy.
Words, words, all I speak is words. Words that echo from a distant part of me, from the center of me... contradictions and absolutes and half truths. What's real? What can I depend on?
Fall is the time of death. What I think I love; toasty fires, wool sweaters, frosty noses, bronzed falling leaves, burnt marshmallows, red ears, hot cider, apple crisp and chai lattes - they turn into sickness and death... Bare and empty trees, vacant spaces in our hearts, runny noses and a chill that wraps its frigid fingers around my heart and keeps me from ever getting warm....
How can this ever turn out to be good?
Sweetness tinged by bitterness... as if I were eating a cookie, knowing full well that it would be feeding cancer cells... How can we enjoy the sweetness when bitterness threatens to overwhelm the enjoyment.
It's an everlasting battle. Can we win it? Can we be happy, love, feel carefree and dance, lightheartedly, when death walks sullenly around us? Can we close our eyes to the pain, toil and awfulness and still be happy? Should we even close our eyes to it? If we don't shut the evil out, how can we immerse ourselves in the good? There must be a balance somewhere - an ability that we must pick up from some wiser source that teaches us to have the spirit of a child while still being aware of the darkness about us. There must be a way... Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but I imagine I might be finding it.
These are the things... these are the things that make me feel happiest. These are the things that I do believe will last.... beauty, wonderful friendships, people, family.... Nothing will ever last as we know it, but I know, I must believe, that it will stay.
