01 February 2008

Chicken soup, an autumn day, and impermanence. (October '06)

Welcome back, beloved readers. It's been a while.

I wish I could tell you all of the reasons that it's been a while, but alas, that is not to be. Instead, please allow me to resume my tale in the present, on this crisp autumn day here in the American southland.

On this day I sit here before my computer nursing a small, warm bowl of chicken soup. I'm trying my best to find solace in the moment, in the familiar comfort of a warm, homemade meal and the mournful howling of the October wind amidst the trees outside my window.

Life these past two years has been a wearying amalgam of grand trials and small joys. Some of these trials have been faithful and tiring companions through the years, burdens easily acquired but not so easily disposed. Some have been more transient, often more intense, and gratefully let go.

A few months ago, it seemed as though there could be light at the end of the tunnel. Outside events and inner stirrings had conspired to breathe within our breasts some new hope, some possible realization of a dream deferred, or perhaps some new dream, crafted from the ashes of our long-since-incinerated wants and desires.

Then came the latest, and potentially greatest challenge. A challenge such that the resolution and consequence thereof lie utterly out of my own hands. A challenge with the power to destroy some of the roads once laid before me, and likewise to raise new, more difficult paths. In all of this, the only certainties are that whatever the outcome, it shall come at great cost and the lessons learned thereby will not soon be forgotten.

And now...what?

I sit here upon nothing steadfast save the hand of God, awaiting the unknown, and relying upon His will for all outcomes and perhaps His charity to cover the costs I now face.

To face the totality of my circumstance is to feel small, powerless, and imprisoned in my own inability.

So here I sit, snug in my little room, a now-empty bowl beside me, and my wonderful wife asleep in the next room...and I find solace in the moment.

For this, I will forever remain grateful.

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