I sought the refuge of the garden, from a call that needed more from words than they were ever born to give. At times, meaning is only found in places grown for silence, but in this moment the garden will not speak to me. Bits and pieces of the call resound unceasingly in my mind but the heart refuses to hear the cruelty of the moment. I find the words, “I am so sorry” and then, words fail the only job they have, they fail to find a voice, fail to speak, to find something in the depth of me that can fix for a moment, all that suddenly and inexplicably is broken in a life that means so much to me.
Loss is a promise, made to us in exchange for the life we are given and today the pain of that promise comes to take a part of me I cannot stop. It remains a part of living in which an inevitable end keeps its appointment with a heart that cannot out run its coming.
My heart is drowning in useless explanations but the mind does not know to move in any other way. It knows that life is a resting place for souls waiting an immortality promised by He, who alone can make such promise. An unfolding eternity where the soul soars unencumbered by bodies never meant to stay, never part of the promise.
Reason knocks upon the door but it will not open and the heart begins to shudder in preparation for the brokenness that is coming and I can do nothing, but to let it break. I let the sadness raise the wall that’s keeps anything and everything away from so fresh a wound. Our greatest failing, is a failure to fill the heart with as much of those we love until they are no more. We are left instead, to weave a bandage from the rags of our regret and too cover those unfilled places which we did not fill when time was with us.
Time will, however, pass. I will move nearer to other promises that life has not yet kept. Some filled with immeasurable joy and some that my heart will try in futility to still out run. I don’t believe that time heals the broken heart. Instead she gathers the pieces and presses them to herself until, beat for beat and pulse for pulse, they learn to live together. The heart was made in such a way, not to stain the coming days with the pain of remembered loss, but that the loss of you, could never be remembered without remembering even more, the joy of you. That as they course together through the veins which will feed my days, the brokenness will never rise to rule above that joy.
Today, I cannot see the beauty in the garden. Promises have come to steal away the part of me that lets me see such things, but God will find that part of me and He will bring me home and beauty will again rain upon the garden and I will find you there in the memories, which God did not allow the promises to keep.
© 2020 arb