I found the post below on Facebook memories. I don’t even know how long ago I wrote it. Sometimes I post things to certain people. An answer to a question, a message, sometimes support. I always hope a lot of people read but sometimes it is just about what one person reads, one person hears.
The post below is really for me. There is a line in a song that describes a lot about how I feel right now, “Easy is getting harder every day…”
It was originally written for a friend. He was trying to cope with a major tragedy in his life. I remember telling him the loss of important things need not be the end of finding things important.
This post is both reminder and prayer for me. If easy is getting hard for you I hope you will find something in it for you.
I know people that life is not going to change for. An accident of birth, a victim of circumstances, bad luck….a hundred thousand million different reasons. Everyday is weight.
People can not always choose what they live with. Perhaps the answer is in what we live for. Perhaps we can in some way choose what we cherish. Maybe when we cant make things different we can still find a difference.
Do hard things, even very hard things, have to matter as much as good things. Do loud things make it impossible to hear other things? Do you sometimes even wonder if there are other things?
Perhaps that is where the journey starts- in knowing there are other things. In knowing that the loss of something loved need not be the end of loving. Perhaps that is where the seeds of hope can be found.
I had a great and good friend named Cecil Cook who died in a plane crash several years ago (see “The living of Cecil Cook”). He was the most helpful person with hurting people I have ever known. He knew a truth very few people ever knew: that kindness was the greatest strength. It was like breath to him. I remember once at a funeral he preached he said, “Lets talk about how she lived…” And for 30 minutes we told stories and laughed and then cried and then told more stories.
Sometimes we have the wrong conversation with ourselves. I know I do. This is a brutal period of my life and sometimes at night sitting on my porch I wonder about kinder spaces and better times. We all suffer small deaths every day but perhaps the conversation should be about how we have lived.
The deepest injury is not in pain or hard times. Perhaps it is not even in loss or sorrow, not even in the loss of what we cherished, but in the awful soul killing fear that it doesnt matter what we cherish, what we love, what we care about. Perhaps that is the injury unto death.
Remember Cecil’s words. “Lets talk about how she lived…” Give yourself the same gift.