a day in the life of a bowhead

somewhere deep deep inside of me there is a writer. she longs to come out. this has been a constant struggle. i feel the words, thoughts and feelings desperately fighting to emerge, yet nothing comes. there are no words, there are no thoughts and there are no feelings. where does this come from? why is it they are so palpable and yet so unattainable? my coven has amazing writers. writers who write daily, writers who write sporadically, but all of them are so … sigh … beautiful. so sage. so true. so revealing. do i not write because i am then exposing myself? do i not write because the talent is just not there? do i not write because something is wrong with me at a base level? i dont know these answers, but i long for them.

good feelings, precious thoughts and loving embraces are being sent to all of you across the miles on this cold, rainy, icy day.

a friend, sorority sister and faith sister of mine lost her husband this weekend. it was not expected. in fact, it was completely utterly without any comprehension. even when it is expected, wanted and a blessing, death is unable to be comprehended. i think god means it to be this way. i think he is being most gracious by our being unable to understand. it gives us opportunities to grow, to have faith and to just believe. it gives us moments to see friends, true friends. it gives us a chance to realize how precious and fleeting life is. how arrogant are we to believe life can or will go on forever! how absurd for us to think as mere humans we can ‘beat the odds’ and go on when it just stands there waiting. for those of us who have experienced a close death, i think we can see a little more clearly the gift that is given us every day, with every breath. i think also those who love someone, truly love someone, who has lost someone very dear is given this gift. the hurt that is seen. the hurt that is shared by proxy. that hurt permeates as much as if it were your own. that hurt causes growth. a growth toward softness. a growth toward loving wholly, unabashedly, without limits. 

i pray for my sister who has lost her husband. bless her heart and the hearts of her kids. the little girl, not yet 10. the young man, 18 years old and already such a grown up life he’s lived. and my sister… she clung to me when i walked in. and i cried with her. i cried for her. for her family. for me. and for my father.

and i give thanks for my beloved… you know why.