Life’s fragility—much too fleeting or painstakingly stagnant, joyfully overflowing or devastatingly lonely—plays out in this space between human life and death. Sometimes, lines have been rehearsed for decades; often, we’re caught off guard, blindsided by the swiftness of change that was never expected or invited.
We can be like shooting stars—tiny specs of dust glowing as they pass briefly through our atmosphere—and we can settle in with awareness of who we are beyond the external, the visible, the day-to-day physical selves we’ve created.
What is deep within you, even when you choose not to acknowledge it? Is it an onslaught of never-spoken fear, an overwhelming awareness of love, a mash-up of all the emotions the human soul can carry?
Stories retold, experiences rehashed: some beauty-filled, others laden with sadness, create who we are. Yet those words—mere combinations of letters created by humans—passed down and meted out often do not soothe the soul because it is faith, community, and the awareness of rai·son d’ê·trewe that heals us. And life is fulfilled not with material possessions but through poignant experiences shared and honored.
We sometimes get stuck—not doing anything iniquitous, but likewise not amending sorrow, misfortune, or loss. Often, we set aside true healing because it’s just too difficult to go backward to go forward, afraid that if we attempt it, thoughts: profound, bleeding, nonsensical, or sacred may all collide in a single action.
So, we often linger, holding onto needless untruths, biding time, jumping over, and running away from the world, the other, and ourselves. Peace comes, offtimes much too slowly, yet there are those blessed moments when she is like a river washing over, cleansing and renewing—a baptism of hope and expectation.
Silence can be an endowment or a scourge. Our voices need to resonate; our truths beg to be heard above the clanging gongs. We can be agents of transformation—fostering a culture where acceptance, compassion, empathy, and understanding are heard above all else.
What if we search for genuine joy, not goldfish bowl happiness, but Spirit blessed jubilance? After all, while you’re reading these words, this moment is the only one guaranteed.
May you see your incredible value.
May you know that you are truly loved.
May you find hope even in the dark.
May this day be filled with peace and light.
This is beautiful Kay! Thank you for your gift of words and thoughts and compassion.
Rev. Joanne P. Marchetto
The Barn, Pastor