I’m tired of losing people.
It’s raining this morning. As the rain bangs softly against the tin on my roof, I wondered if the rain drops were tears that dripped from the cheeks of Almighty God.
I’m tired of watching my country circle the drain, and hearing the sheep call the chaos progress.
I’m tired of politicians selling out their citizens and country, all while lining their pockets with the citizens money while their kith and kin live in poverty.
Mostly, I’m just tired.
It’s two in the morning here in North Mississippi. It’s another sleepless night, another mundane, tortured, horror-filled dream, another night of quite ponderance.
This new year kicked off with me catching COVID, twice, the loss of a dear friend, and more loss on the way. My birthday is in a couple short weeks away. I’ll turn 49. I feel every bit of it.
From the other side of my cozy cabin, a soft snore escapes from my faithful companion, Chunk. I envy his simplistic existence. He runs when he has the energy, which is always, and the things he can’t change he pees on and goes on his way.
That’s sound advice if I’ve ever heard it.
It won’t always be this way. Things change. If I’ve learned anything in 49 years, it’s that nothing stays the same. I’ve heard that growth is painful, but if that is true, so is recession.
I suppose pain is another absolute in our ordered universe. So far, I’ve figured out that there are only a few absolutes. The truth, math, and pain.
Losing people is a natural fact of life. I don’t know what lies on the other side, but I’ve often wondered if it’s not better than this world we live in today. Their troubles are over, but we must live with the grief that wrecks our heart.
The rain has ceased for now. Chunk is still snoring. The night is quiet besides the occasional drop hitting the tin. I suppose I’ll make a cup of coffee and consider how blessed I am that God saw fit to give me life this morning.
You guys take it easy.