It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, although that might not be far from the truth.
So much has been happening, all good, thanks be to God, that I have been, for some time now, at a loss for words. Thoughts and ideas are percolating inside, quite unlike the latest espresso-brewing machine which dispenses intensely flavourful cuppas from capsules in double time. But lately, I’ve been censoring myself, probably the worst possible thing for a writer to do.
When in doubt, sing.
Or in this case, post a music vid.
Yes, I know this is the second post in which I’m getting away with not saying much at all. Three strikes and you’re out, is that the rule?
I’ll say this much: I’ve been thinking a lot about loyalty, in its different forms, loyalty at work, loyalty between friends, loyalty in its many-splendored shades.
I’ve also been thinking about surrender, the posture we assume when we drop all that we hold dear to our selves, our current favourite thing, our current thorn in the side, that ache, that longing, that pain that just won’t go away.
Especially on rainy days.
To let go is to let God. It’s so brief it seems almost easy. Like all our innermost desires, hopes and fears can be given a prescription to be filled at the nearest drugstore. Of course, it can’t.
Is surrender a kind of transition to something better? And if we surrender everyday–“All to Jesus, I surrender . . . “– does that mean we are constantly in transit? For that can be a good thing, if it means that pain, suffering, the dull ache, is only made to seem temporary. To be temporary is to be transient.
Time (where “temporary” gets its Latin root “tempus”) itself is transient.
Maybe that’s why God wrote eternity in our hearts. So that in the face of things too much to bear, no matter how permanently transient, we remember the atonement, the shedding of blood wherein resides life, “for life is in the blood” the Scriptures say, and remember that even in transitions, we are victorious.