The Best that I Can Do

[Originally published, January 2023]

I would like to be the kind of
person
who could fully rejoice and release with ease
the losses of this world

Death.

Betrayal.

Unmet expectations.

Personal failures.

Disappointment

To meet each with a pious nod
A contemplative sigh
A verse in tune
Graciously accepting

But.

I’m simply not.
Not that person
Not there yet.

I fight too much and
Resist the peace
Not gracious in being
Misunderstood
and
not wise in understanding
And deeply longing still for
Completion without loss

I’m clingy
to a person
And an ideal
Of what was placed
– created rather –
In my soul
And find I’m
much too aware of my
Entanglements
In this world
and wishful thinking
But

Eyes ahead
Hope fixed
I am anchored
Away
Embedded somewhere higher than here
By the One who went before me
In Whom
All my hopes are held and met

and
One day

I will be that person
Until that day
I’m just who I am becoming

Laying it down again
Facing the shock and disappointment
of loss
Willing to say aloud
this doesn’t seem fair
or right
or what I want

Like a child
Childish still
no air left in my lungs
I gasp then lower my eyes
and sigh

And hold on to hope and
even more
to Hope.

I suppose that’s the release
And for now, the best that I
Can do.

Why’d I write this?

As a generally, truly happy, and joyful person – an extrovert by most measures – I find that any hint of melancholy I express often confuses people. As if a display of emotion, a tearful moment, indicates a buried tumolt seething beneath my usual happy heart that I’m holding behind my safe-for-the-public mask. But no. Actually, here’s how this poem came about…

I have several tabs open in my brain at any given time. Like the windows on my computer, right now, I have this page
my calendar
a couple of messaging tabs
a graphics art tab
a Greek lexicon
Facebook
PowerPoint
and two Word files
all running.
Ha ha ha! Maybe you relate?
Well..

This poem spontaneously flowed one night as I was studying and both my mental tab and my literal tab were open to a passage in 1 Corinthians. Layered behind that tab, my mind was also processing the news that one of my spiritual mentors, Dr. Mike Heiser, is in his final days on this earth.

More tabs layered and scattered in my mind – tabs for work, ministry life, this friend, that friend, another friend, family, marriage, Dr. Heiser, and I paused clicking on my keyboard as I thought of him and his wife and their children and the greatness of losing him and his fresh perspectives and insightful teaching. How impactful he’s been in mine and hundreds and hundreds of other lives.

Then loss connected to loss, and like tugging a string with moments knotted as beads, losses moved to the front tab of my mind. An entire tab group: my dad, my mom, my college roommate, back and through time as I held each bead for a moment I felt again the sting of each loss, and with each one I knew the truth of the hope that they all had and that I also do have…

but still here, I was feeling the heaviness of loss instead of the glory and joy that Christians have through it. And as my mind held the moments, I also thought, “I wish I was ‘that kind’ of person…” and I imagined a more mature person, a more settled and resolved person, someone who could fully rejoice and not be so overcome and might even have effective and consoling words to offer.

And it’s not just the loss of death, but the loss of all the little things that make up relationships, work, engaging here and, well, out came the words.

Writing is a way I have for processing things and being able to move and not be swallowed.

It’s like singing a worship song – the words and music bring forth a unique way of processing the tabs – often in tears and reverent silence.

So I wrote and processed.

And today, I’ll be back at work, studying again, writing more, calling, connecting, engaging – all the things that make up another day. And behind that tab of work and regular life, I know remains open the tab group: “Loss” – and at another time a reminder will break in and bring that tab once again to the front, and I’ll scroll through it or minimize it in that moment.

But the tab is never closed. There’s not even a little red dot or ‘x’ to click. It’s always there.

If this has spoken to you in some way, I’d love to hear from you. This blog can feel one-sided, just me putting it out there, but I’d rather it be an “us” and not a “me” blog.

Won’t you say hi? Leave a thought. Share this to Facebook, email it along and share with a friend. Did you know when you share and leave a comment, the Google machine and other searchy tools out there move this little blog up a bit so others can find it.

I’d love that, certainly not because I have anything particularly interesting or revolutionary to say, but because I’d be in community with others, and we’d all get to hear and share and connect better…that’s what I want. Thanks for helping and connecting. 💕