Life is the weather. Sometimes it is, at least. Take today—man, from the window it is picturesque, sun shining, gentle breeze, and blue (oh so blue) skies. And then I step through the door and the sun feels so far (oh so far) away. The breeze is not gentle; truly, it is no breeze at all, but a fierce bite of a thing. The skies are blue, but now so too are my lips.
Life is beautiful. We laugh and hold hands and dance. We learn and grow and love. But it is hard too; it has bite.
I spent some time recently with a person who summarized this aspect of life. This person had recently lost a loved one, and the more he shared the fond memories he and this individual had shared, the more quivery his voice got, the bite of death and loss and pain overflowing from the corner of his eyes and pouring out—great, big, wet tears.
Sometimes our grief can swallow us up, and we fail to see the beautiful sun or blind ourselves to wonders of laughter, we cease holding hands, we avoid the dance at all costs. Or, I’ve known some who just stiff arm the pain altogether, thinking that if they don’t acknowledge it, maybe it would cease to exist.
But in neither course is truth found. No, the course to be had is to courageously plunge out in the biting beauty, coat of faith, hope, and love securely fastened. We’ll experience some good, and strive through some bad, all of which will point to a more ultimate biteless beauty, forever unfading.