Always Reforming

Sisyphus, What kind of trick is this? Always walking uphill, Always winding the clock, Always wondering  If? When? You call this formation, But it feels like punishment, For wasted years and  Wayward thoughts. Does it ever end? The struggle, the ardor, The self-doubt and  Self-surrender? Weary, I wander, Is it giving up Or reading the signs? I'm beginning to think  No one ever arrives, We merely do our best To survive Until we die. Won't you put me out of my Misery? Cut off my head And set me free? Do you do well to be angry? I'm not looking for Redemption, Just purpose, and Resolution.

Some of these people aren't here anymore. This picture was taken somewhere around the end of '90.  I, the cute, little guy in the blue suit on Grandma's lap, was born on 12/13/89 (the same day as Taylor Swift, mind you), and I figure I'm closing in on a year here. First we lost Mom.  Then Grandpa.  Then Grandma.  Then Dad. I had never noticed that Dad is wearing his clerical collar in this picture.  I guess he was ordained earlier than I thought.  I guess I don't actually know when he was ordained... As I study this picture, it occurs to me that we don't lose loved ones only to death. We also lose them to divorce...and marriage...and distance...and apathy...and the busyness of life.  Sometimes we lose them to the pain we were never able to confront. Time moves on.  The world changes.  The life you knew, which probably wasn't what you thought it was anyway, changes.  There's no way it can't.   The Universe simply won't allow it....

This was originally written in 2018 after the untimely death of Scott Hutchinson, the lead singer of Frightened Rabbit. Why am I thinking in Scottish? Somehow it aids in expressing All these depressing  Thoughts. Everybody dies And Everybody knows it, But  Everybody forgets It Every now and then. Because we have to. It's just another wound, It's just another wound, From the cradle to the womb, Another gone too soon, It's just another wound, It's just another wound, To the graveyard from the womb, They're always gone too soon.

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Forgiveness is hard.  Forgiveness is really, really hard. It’s difficult to forgive others who have genuinely harmed or offended us.   It’s easy to say , “I forgive you,” but it’s extremely difficult to feel it–to make peace in our hearts with the injustices that others have perpetrated against us. It just doesn’t feel right.  Sin should be punished!  Wrongs should be righted!  Right?! It’s difficult to forgive others when they ask for it.  It’s even more difficult to forgive them when they haven’t asked for it–when they don’t even recognize what they’ve done to hurt us. As our Savior hung upon His Cross, He asked the Father to forgive those nearby–those who were unwittingly contributing to the greatest injustice in the history of the world. These thieves, soldiers, and standers-by had no idea what was happening.  They had no idea that the jealousy of the Jews had placed Christ on that Cross...

Baseball, Baby bunnies, Birds chirping, Rain. Violent temperature swings, Flowers blooming only to be Murdered by the frost, More rain. Heat in the morning And A/C in the evening, And a little more rain. Cute kittens, Nature walks, Sunshine in spurts, So much rain. Easter, A world resurrected, Hopeful hearts Emerging from the dark, Incessant rain.

Originally written on 03/31/14. The dregs at the bottom of  My well-used wine glass. The remnants of a society At war with maturity. Middle-aged men who are Oblivious to social norms. Miller Lite receptacles Littering our streets. Radios blaring mind-numbing, Top-40, bass-driven nonsense. The horror of reaching the bottom Of my glass of Moscato.