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Sunday, April 8, 2012
Waking the Dead
And, just like any other death that seems to trigger the death-in-three's phenomenon, so had this one.
There was first the sudden, unexpected loss of friendship and the resulting ice-hard loneliness. That was followed by the loss of place, the realization I would never be welcomed into a community of which I had wished to be a part. The third death was the loss of any personal regard, the stunning discovery of my own worthlessness to people I had wanted to befriend and by whom I had wanted to be liked.
We are born to mourn; and I held time in both my hands and grieved through these last months, never once realizing that my span of grief was a gestation that would bless me in the end with renewed life.
Death becomes a friend to us as time leads us down the roads we travel, a companion on our journeys, perhaps our only friend. With his great scythe, he hacks off of our backs the lifeless burdens we carry out of habit as decisively as he rips loved ones from our hearts. He whispers to us that the dark, cold emptiness we feel now will become endurable, will offer peace and an inkling of the presence of God, who is far beyond anything we could bear to imagine.
These last few days, I have been waking the dead. Now I have buried those whom I had sought to love but had not loved me. They lie below the dirt beneath my feet.
The stone is rolled away. Light trickles across the threshold of my place of confinement. I step outside to breathe the cool, damp morning air and cradle this new day with gratitude and love.
Life is new again, reborn, and fat with wondrous possibilities.