the all-pervasive lie of the world casts gentleness as the worst kind of weakness - the kind that one who has it is stupid enough to let hang out in plain view.
I'm a fairly expert poser, but I know very well that the truth of oneself will always be revealed. I wish that caused me more joy than sorrow, but there it is. some are weaker than me, many stronger. whatever.
I can do damned little about that, but I can choose what I believe, even though I have been so hardwired to believe the lies that believing something else is the hardest work I have ever done.
the more I look back on some of the paths I yearned to follow for so much of my life, the less I believe I could have hacked it without being destroyed, or changed into a person that wasn't God's idea at all for me. that hurts like f*ck, but I have friends who have lived on those paths who believe in me more than I was ever able to. to feel like something that's indelibly tattooed on your soul is out of your reach because you're too gentle to embrace it feels like a slow death. there is nothing to do but trust One who knows better because He made me.
a large part of me still wants to be revealed as the embodiment of all the qualities I have lusted for and felt so incorrigibly bereft of, but if I make that my aim I will lose sight of what makes life worth living.
so I'm gentle, hesitant, quiet, apt to listen and watch before acting, quick to appreciate beauty, annoyingly open about the things that touch my heart, unfailingly surprised and dismayed every time life reminds me of a truth that should have long ago ceased to catch me off guard - that the world hates and fears that kind of person and is bent on destroying it, and no one is so divorced from the world that they are incapable of the same hate and fear - including me. but I get over it and start again, cuz I'm a hard f*ckin' target. and it's still a piss-poor idea to harm someone I love. to be gentle doesn't mean I'm incapable of brutality, only that I'm unwilling to be given over to or defined by it. those who are have lost the ability to see the end of the war or even hope for it. not going there.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
catching up
Dear Aunt Esther,
I would certainly understand if you were a mite too distracted right now to pay much attention to this. You have a great deal of catching up to do, and I wouldn't begrudge you that for all the world.
You are catching up on life. That seems an odd thing to say at your funeral, but I know as solidly as I can claim to know anything that you are more alive now than I have ever been. Looking at what you have endured these last few years, that is a great comfort.
I am at a loss to even approach summing up what it meant to me to have you and Uncle Bill in my family. Your marriage brought two very different families together, and the very best attributes of both made your home the safe, welcoming place that it was. You always made us feel like you were as eager to see us every year as we were to be there. When you visited us up North, you brought the warmth and welcome of the South with you, and it always seemed to linger a bit after you'd left.
I remember coming down for Melissa's wedding less than two months after Uncle Bill died. I saw in you perhaps the most conflict I had ever seen on a human face - deep joy and deep grief fighting for first place. I remember feeling very sorry for you, but it wasn't until later that I saw how tremendously strong you had to have been to face that and prevail. You were hurting badly, but you still had much to give to all those present just by being there.
Your love and faith are a legacy that illness and loss and all manner of life's trials have only seasoned and strengthened, even as that same love and faith strengthen those who were blessed to call you friend or family. This world may take little notice of your accomplishments, but that means nothing to us. We know better.
I can't thank you enough for your love and example, nor can I thank God enough that you are now free of the sickness and sorrow that you knew all too well in this life. It hurts to see you go where we can't yet follow, but you now know better than any of us do that the reunion will be more than worth the hurt. As I said, you are catching up. With your God, your husband, with all you love and cherish. And you have eternity to do it. I don't know when I will join you, only that I will one day. Thanks be to God. I love you. And thanks to you and Uncle Bill for all the orange Push-Ups.
I would certainly understand if you were a mite too distracted right now to pay much attention to this. You have a great deal of catching up to do, and I wouldn't begrudge you that for all the world.
You are catching up on life. That seems an odd thing to say at your funeral, but I know as solidly as I can claim to know anything that you are more alive now than I have ever been. Looking at what you have endured these last few years, that is a great comfort.
I am at a loss to even approach summing up what it meant to me to have you and Uncle Bill in my family. Your marriage brought two very different families together, and the very best attributes of both made your home the safe, welcoming place that it was. You always made us feel like you were as eager to see us every year as we were to be there. When you visited us up North, you brought the warmth and welcome of the South with you, and it always seemed to linger a bit after you'd left.
I remember coming down for Melissa's wedding less than two months after Uncle Bill died. I saw in you perhaps the most conflict I had ever seen on a human face - deep joy and deep grief fighting for first place. I remember feeling very sorry for you, but it wasn't until later that I saw how tremendously strong you had to have been to face that and prevail. You were hurting badly, but you still had much to give to all those present just by being there.
Your love and faith are a legacy that illness and loss and all manner of life's trials have only seasoned and strengthened, even as that same love and faith strengthen those who were blessed to call you friend or family. This world may take little notice of your accomplishments, but that means nothing to us. We know better.
I can't thank you enough for your love and example, nor can I thank God enough that you are now free of the sickness and sorrow that you knew all too well in this life. It hurts to see you go where we can't yet follow, but you now know better than any of us do that the reunion will be more than worth the hurt. As I said, you are catching up. With your God, your husband, with all you love and cherish. And you have eternity to do it. I don't know when I will join you, only that I will one day. Thanks be to God. I love you. And thanks to you and Uncle Bill for all the orange Push-Ups.
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