Life yet, and more life to come...

***Please take a minute to visit Tara & Troy Livesay and be invigorated by their marvelous, marvelous work in Haiti.  I promise you will be SO glad you did!

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So here I am.  My soul knows there is something golden even in the face of so much sadness, but my hands have to sift through the debris, bleed, and maybe touch death, before I find it.

    It's Haiti, in heaps of rubble and ruin.

    It's my 21-year-old neighbor who slipped from this world yesterday at 10:20am.

    It's the 17-year-old in Indiana whose brother shot him to death last week.

    It's the everyday, ordinary sorrows being suffered right here where I am and there where you are.  

And I can write a thousand songs about a thousand things happening in this one thing...I can believe that and do...and still, I want to shout: 

    WHY!?!

I'm a prideful beast.  But not too proud to admit that I don't have these answers. "Trust and obey" is easier sung than done and I want to grab God by the hem of His royal robe and demand an explanation, or better yet, an undoing of it all.

I hate hate hate the brokenness here.

And maybe…in such moments, with skin broken and lips parched, that very hatred of all that is wrong and misshapen here is itself…a hope?  Doesn’t our discontent whisper a claim that you and I recognize as true?  

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting

The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,

                           Hath had elsewhere its setting,

                                 And cometh from afar:

                          Not in entire forgetfulness,

                          And not in utter nakedness,

           But trailing clouds of glory do we come

                          From God, who is our home…”

 

                                                            --William Wordsworth,

  “Intimations of Immortality”

 

...that chaos and fragementation were not a part of the original design for this place or for us.  That there is something more, and we were born to remember it. 

 

But it takes a whole lot of sifting. 

 

And when, after what must be years of search and recovery, from the bottom of the destruction, our ears discern the muffled cries of life--against all logic and human expectation--our fingers will move feverishly and find that golden, breathing, intact something we had barely dared hope for, but had known all along:

 

There is life yet, and more life to come.