Why does where we go after we die perplex us more than where we were before our birth?
I wanna take my place among them.
Those crooning creators.
Those well mannered makers.
You know the ones.
The ones you turn up real loud so you can hear every word.
The ones you don’t want to miss.
The ones you hold close to your heart.
I wanna take my place among them so one day, they call me more than “friend.”
So that one day, they won’t just call me “buddy,” but brother. Oh brother I wanna take my place among them.
Take my place with them not above them. Rather just by their side. I wanna be a thorn cast sideways. Oh brother I wanna take my place. I want to give up my running. I wanna finish this race. Yeah yeah, just tell me, how would it taste?
When I was a kid, I would draw spooky night scenes. There’d be an old, scraggly tree sitting atop a hill and lightning coming from ominous looking clouds. Sometimes, I’d try to draw an owl, but every time, I drew a gravestone that was cracked. I wrote RIP in big letters before I ever knew what it stood for. I always thought it meant something scary. I came to find out it wasn’t scary at all, it was actually kind of sweet. Rest-in-peace. I like that, I decided. Hopefully, one day I will.
The anthem of a lot of things.
Maybe we’re all pieces of God’s personality.
Some of us represent his happiness.
Some represent his frustrations.
Others still, are his wonder, his fear, his joy.
I am his sadness, I think.
I am his woe and depression. I am his lament and sorrow. I am him when he looks at brokenness in the mirror and doesn’t accept it, when he looks at it out the window too. I am him when when he’s kicking and screaming and foaming at the mouth in the face of all this sin and separation. I am him when he’s tied to a bed in a mental hospital, thrashing and wishing for something, anything else.
I am his sadness.
I’m sure of it.