endure

The way you keep going is this:

one morning you wake up and you whisper a prayer and you pull yourself out of bed.  

And then you repeat that every day.

Grace of God, by His mercy and all that (desperately true) stuff.

Little things make you cry, like car commercials or old Calvin and Hobbes comics,

but big things, like Easter Mornings, leave you dry.  

You know what would happen if you rolled away that stone.

And then who would make the dinner or read books out loud or say yes to another board game?   

Someone has to keep finding beautiful things so the children know about truth, and hope.

Keep the stone in place for now.

 

Pray and pray around the clock.  

Nothing fancy, that's for sure, just words, shot like those rope-tied arrows you see on movies, from a crossbow to a castle turret.  Or maybe from Batman's belt to the top of a crumbling city building. 

Then pull on it to see if it's taut, if it might hold your weight.  It does.

That's all the work you can do for today, but now you know you're safe in case the earth keeps crumbling away beneath you.

Glory be to God and all that stuff.

Read the poets.  They can point you to things you need to know.

Those mystics, prophets, truth-tellers, they know that the only way through is through.

Thank God for them, the only ones brave enough to tell you the truth.  

Selah.

 

And take care of yourself.  

When you feel tired, take a nap.  When your heart starts racing, go sit down.  

When all the muscles in your jaw start to ache, close your eyes and unclench them, ok?  

Your body needs your kindness because there is still a ways to go here.

A walk would be good.   Maybe just a small one, around the yard to see what spring is bringing to you.   

God lives in the fresh air, the raindrops, the spiderweb, the chickadee-dee-dee.  

(No, that's not heresy.  Just go outside, you'll know what I mean.)

 

You see that?  There's beauty yet.

Praise be to God and all that stuff.