“You can feel the breeze as it stings blood shot eyes, squinting in the desert wind, though cool against hair attached to sun burnt skin. You know it is there beyond the haze of floating sand particles agitated at the arrogance of the wind disturbing their rest. The cold of moonlit, cloudless nights brought sleep like death for days on end to the bones of those who accepted its offer. But the Wind!, who like prophecy, fills the land with an expectancy of Pentecost, does not care. Dust, wet with the changing air, marries dust. You can feel it.”
I’m thinking, today, about how many of the psalms were lamentations of pain, frustration, and despair. It’s OK to show that side of ourselves to God. Someone once noted that the psalms always have a happy ending.* The interpretation here is that no matter what: everything’s OK! But a day or moment in my life is not a song or psalm with a set beginning or end. The story will continue on.
Yes, there is a happy conclusion to this journey if we stay the course but days don’t always end up happy nor do many of our experiences. Dry bones will will be revived, metaphorically speaking, when we meet our Savior in the sky at the end of the story (read about it in the epistles of St. Paul). To use another image, this wilderness I’m walking through doesn’t promise a happy end to my life on Earth or even an occasional happy trail. It merely promises to block or hinder my journey any way it can.
There are days, let’s admit it, that we’ll go to sleep without the happy conclusion having arrived or even the happy moment, the joy out of nowhere, as I’ve referred to it elsewhere. This is one of those days for me. Sometimes the bones feel so dry and brittle it takes all my effort to keep moving toward the revival of body, mind, and soul I’ve been promised but can’t yet see. Some days, the wind just doesn’t seem to be blowing. At least I can’t feel it for any number of reasons.
This is not the end to a happy day, nor an ending at all, it’s another day in the battle of our lives. I do feel strong enough to admit it and accept that its part of the war we find ourselves in. Tomorrow, I may wake to the caressing of a refreshing wind, or I may not… but the journey continues. I am the Runner,** and no matter how weary I get or how cold the dark of the wilderness becomes, I will continue to run the path I am on. Even if it feels more like a stubborn determination than a rallying cry.
*Incorrectly, I found out later.