Apostrophe

Once in a great while you have one of those apostrophe moments: the light bulb goes on, your head snaps back and aha, by George you've got it! It is sometimes a fabulous moment of enlightenment, your toes are tapping and you and filled with joy. You feel so inspired you have to tell someone else, even when they look at you with those blank stares of lack of comprehension; you are not deflated in the least. You know something you didn't know before and life is miraculous. These are the moments that I feel most like freezing the frame, holding every single second in time in my memory bank so I will always remember the moment when I got whatever it is I got. I really wish there was an ebenezer that could be raised on every one of those times in my life. They were golden, and all eternity danced with me. God danced with me and when I threw my head back and laughed with pure delight, I know God laughed with me.

There are also other moments, the light bulb goes on and there is an awakening to a new truth that is not so joy filled. These truths are less about enlightenment and more about realization, when it finally takes root in my heart that the story doesn't end the way I dreamed it would, when the Calvary doesn't come to save the day, when happily ever after is more like limping to an end. These moments there is no Aha; it is more like an Ah. There is no dancing, no laughter, and no desire to save the memory. This is the sure confidence that the memory will be seared into tender flesh in such a way that try with all one's might, there will be no forgetting the day, the time, the place when truth made itself plain and realization, desired or not, can no longer be avoided.

I remember this moment more than 11 years ago, when I realized my father would die. There would be no touched by an angel moment, no one had a secret cure, he would diminish over time and one day he would be gone. It didn't take long to happen, and I had already realized it would, still the moment when I walked into the house saw the empty space, and the knowledge still rolled over me in thunderous waves. I will never forget that moment; it will no doubt be the one I tell people about over and over in the nursing home. I do not think I remember feeling God's presence, but I would not be surprised to know He cried with me.

This week another one of those moments has found its way into my memory bank. This time I was sure of God's presence, and I felt an outpouring of love that enabled me to breathe deeply and find a place that was my own before the tears fell. This time the pain was just as sharp, the tears are just as many, but the hope is not so tenuous. I can rationalize all kinds of reason for this, the event is different, I am older and perhaps wiser and God has absorbed more and more of me over the years. But I think really the difference is that I am beginning to appreciate that this is the real story, not the fairytale I thought would make for a good life. The one where everyone is kind and loves God just as I do. The one where differences are worked out all of the time and closure is a given. The one where at the end of the day there is a happily ever after somewhere, and there has to be one if God is truly God and loves us as He says he does. I am learning that sometimes redemption comes on the other side of life. That sometimes people choose poorly and brokenness stays broken. That this is part of the reality of living in a world that is awaiting it's redemption as much as God's people await their own, not evidence of God's absence or lack of love but the hope that we are given in the coming of God's kingdom. That's an AHA and an Ah all rolled into one.

One day the tears cease and instead of ashes we receive crowns of beauty. Until that day, I will dance with all my heart in the seasons of joy and grieve in those seasons of ashes but not as those who have no hope. I am waiting with great expectation, Come Lord Jesus, Come