© Hilary F. Marckx, all rights reserved
Two days ago,
and it’s happened before,
I walked out into my backyard
to see an explosion of feathers.
Hawks are hungry, doves satisfy that hunger
how things are meant to be,
that makes it no less easy for the dove.
how many times have we ended up fodder
for life itself?
We get the news…
We hear about…
The doctor says…
We see on the news…
And our lives explode
like the feathers of a
We go on, of course,
but nothing will ever again be the same,
feel the talons on our too soft skin,
and somehow, we go on…
The question always is, How will we respond as life throws destruction into our existence? Will we exhibit anger and rage at life’s betrayal? How could this happen to me? How dare whatever is at work out there let this happen? And then, of course, turn bitter and turn our despair into rage and lash out at the very people who love us and care for us and trust us to be loving.
Will we exhibit a trust in the possibility of grace? Will we find some small promise of new joy within the sadness and anger? Will we find some goodness in our lives even after it all comes down on us? Can we, even in our dying, be persons filled to overflowing with grace and promise?
I have known people who have responded to tragedy in both of these ways. Sometimes only one way. Sometimes in both ways. I think that the trick is to build enough love and hope and faith and grace into our lives so that when life comes up short, we have such a reservoir of them that we keep moving foreward in the love, grace, and hope.
Today, as we wait in the darkness of the Tomb, let us sit without fear, and allow hope to fill and feed us. For just as surely as the sun shone on an empty grave on that long past morning we celebrate tomorrow, there is a promise made that there will be a morning for us and we also shall walk forth into a new dawn that awaits our dreams.