Below is a note about the "book" that I have about 3/4 finished. I can't figure out what to title it. I call this little note I've written "Still ok" for lack of a better name.
Jubilation and depression,
ambiguity and certainty,
delightful health and chronic pain is what this book is about.
It is belief in a God who longs to be in every part of our lives and then who often is only heard through the yellow of a daffodil or bursting forsythia.
It is loving something and hating its very being: (and often at the same time.)
a testimony to confusion and a witness to “I know that I know that I know.”
Here is my Styrofoam plate. This reference is explained later in the book. You will either have to read the book yourself to understand that analogy or find someone who has read the book to tell you what it means. Either way is fine with me. It won’t hurt my feelings if you lay the book down now. It also won’t puff me up too much if you read the whole thing everyday for the rest of your life. (which probably wouldn’t be good for your psyche and I am not recommending that you do that in any way.)
This book is about my running just as hard and fast as I can right into the arms of death, fearing all the time that I might die.
All this said, it is still ok.
I have a bag lady that I become. (Only in my mind. Although I carry enough satchels around with me that you might think I mean this literally.)
This bag lady is old, cold and alone.
She needs to go to the dentist: badly. Her feet bleed and she smells. Long ago her bits of life and sanity buried with her family or rather I should say, buried with her children.
She is me in the future in what I consider a horrible existence. I look at her. I empathize with her. Her plight is before me and I don’t look away; I feel the frozen concrete beneath her. After I sit in her spot for as long as I can mentally stand it, I look into the next life and see that Jesus is still on the throne. He is still who he says he is. Jesus still creates and controls all boundaries, even that of the giant oceans and the terrifying wind. Seeing the order of the creator makes everything ok. I am able to see myself in that woman’s position, which I pray will never come to pass. Even in that forgotten place, I can look Heavenward and know that it is still ok.
I know that this thought process may be “crazy” to some people, but it allows me to live cheerful; unafraid of horrible “what may comes”. I do the same thing with my boys and their driving cars. When Elliot and Evan drive off in their vehicles, I have to envision their dieing. I see their funeral. It is almost always raining. I see myself put my arms around the surviving son. I watch us grieve, looking to each other for comfort, looking away from each other out of suffocating sorrow. In this scenario, we can never move because of all the wonderful memories we have in the home and have to stay on the land, even if it is unwise. Other times, we HAVE to move: the memories around the home and in the yard and on the front porch too great for us to remember. We smother until we get away. In this line of thought, I beg God for these funerals to not take place, but I also live through them. I survive because God and Jesus are still the same. It is still ok.
Old timers would call this like the song, “It is well with my soul” but that isn’t how I talk. I wouldn’t say “Well with my soul” but rather, it is still ok.
Here we go.