Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Mourning

I am not dead. My Internet Explorer seems to be, but I'm fine.

Except I'm not.

I may be experiencing a mid-life crisis. It's a little early. By my math, I should have one at the earliest 6 years in the future. I refuse to accept the notion having one now predicts my expiration date.

It's possible this is why I started my journey out of the swamp. I take longer than most people with most things, so I shouldn't be surprised my mid-life crisis would span several years.

I'm grieving today. Took me a while to figure it out. It's also a bit early, but I'm a preemptive griever. Comes with being a cynic. I regularly borrow trouble, even though Jesus tells me not to.

When the time came to buy my first new car, I wept. For days. I loved my 4-door 1983 Suburu GL-10 metallic green Cricket. He'd been in our family from the day he left the lot. He'd carried my grandfather, dad, and finally me so faithfully. If I were a different person I would have found a way to keep him, but I'm not and I needed the trade-in money as a down payment. He got sold to some flighty high-schooler, and I just know she destroyed him in a cell phone-related incident.

TT: Dave Ramsey says stuff is just stuff and you can always get more stuff. Sometimes Dave is wrong.

I mourn that car. I knew it had to go, and it tore me up inside. Still does.

I loved a cat named Timmi. She was my baby. I brought her back from the brink of death about 8 times over the course of 13 years. Until the last time. I couldn't stop that one.

I mourn her, too. I thought I'd gotten it all out while she was alive. I was wrong.

Some wounds won't heal in this life.

That's what today feels like. I'm standing near the end of something. I don't know what it is or when it will finally come, but the air is heavy. Clouds are swirling, and I'm waiting for the storm.

Change is inevitable, inexorable and inescapable.

What will it bring?

God's will.

That's why I do not mourn as those who have no hope. Mourning will turn to gladness and sorrow to joy. Once that storm passes, I will emerge with a shinier shell and a fresh crop of buttercups.

I just hate the waiting. And the mourning.

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