Shroud

Tonight this city, this reclaimed home of mine, wears the wonderful, magical cloak of COOLNESS.[1] None of the best, most glorious adjectives in existence come close to detailing how welcome this is. Each and every door and window is open, letting the breeze come dancing through to celebrate. Outside, the bird voices—many of which I haven’t heard for 3 years—chorus their pleasure as well. And it helps. This breath of fresh, cool air helps.

These stones of mine, though their weight is slowly lessening, are tiring. Examining them takes energy and I am frequently tempted to turn away and NOT look any closer.

Brokenness. Despair. Sorrow. Pain. Grief. Death.

These are the ones I keep finding in my hands the past week and come from experiences in my profession. I encountered them daily, these stones that came from boulders others carried. Seeing these things was so commonplace, though, that I became too efficient to notice how deeply it was affecting me. And now? I unload these stones and mourn, grieving for each person & family whose experience of brokenness, be it “only” (ha!) physical, I had some small share in.

But even as I roll these stones around, I know other ones, good ones, remain. Some of the softer ones were partially rubbed into a fine dust that now glitters over all of them and sparkles on my hands, so I know stones of joy, peace, love, kindness, and many others are present too. And—I know these will prove to be the greater ones.

Isn’t that the way it is in fairy tales? Death or troubles come at a character from all sides but we already know the end—goodness prevails.[2] Right deeds are rewarded.[3] Peace is restored.[4]

Love wins.

And that, my friends, is what fairy tales get right about life EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. It’s the only story worth telling, the only one worth knowing, and the only one that matters. Love wins. Change the details and the characters and the timeline as you want, but that ending is as unassailable in life as it is in Märchen.

So for a time, I will grieve. For a time, this shroud of mourning covers me, but even as I weep it is being drawn gently from me by one who defeated death & left his shroud in a tomb.[5]

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[1] 76ͦ may not seem like much to celebrate, but it sure as heck is after 98ͦ with heat indexes 102ͦ-105ͦ!!

[2] The Blue Bird

[3] The White Snake

[4] The Dirty Shepherdess

[5] Luke 24:12; John 20:5-7