Joy in my Mourning
"I see trees of green, red roses too, I see them bloom for me and you and I think to myself, what a wonderful world" What a Wonderful World Louis Daniel Armstrong
I've always loved this song. Everything about it comes together to create a visual feast. I picture vividly his words in my mind. I see the trees of green and the blue skies. I imagine myself emersed in that sacred night. I hear it and feel every bit of this scene. It is a wonderful world... But if we are being transparent I must admit this wonderful world leaves me wondering. Recently life has not let up. I am familiar with the saying that things come in 3s. ummmm why does it seem more like 13 or 30 lol? At times life has kicked you. You are down and life comes back in for some good sucker punches. Life can just be hard, at times downright brutal.
I distinctly remember sitting criss cross applesauce in my elementary class. I was hanging on every word my teacher spoke. That was my introduction of a remarkable world changer. She spoke about the inspirational life of Helen Keller. I came in close as my teacher carefully explained that many times the loss of one sense heightens the others. A fire sparked inside of me that day. That never left me. Even in my youth, I knew in a strange way she was gifted in a way we who could "see" were not. I lacked the vernacular or wisdom to describe what I felt at the time. In the moments when life knocks you down and goes in for the sucker punch that gift is available for those who embrace its truth. She had eyes beyond visual sight. "Hearing" what we with natural hearing fail to hear. Seems to me like a beautiful display of grace. God allows one precious gift to leave you but he strengthens all the others. A huge gap is there. That is undeniable. Once you lean into the darkness a light will reveal itself. The remaining gifts are stronger. They are sharpened and brighter.
In recent years I have walked through great loss and piercing pain. That is most certainly not joyous or wonderful. Yet and still when the dust settles there is this gift in the grief. A Joy in the Mourning. I am familiar with the idea of joy coming in the morning but if you dig. I promise there is a joy in the mourning. It is the sacred truth that you were even blessed with a love so beautiful and deep that its absence leaves you bare. It hurts because it was. They exsisted. What was once full now feels empty. It is a deep loss because it was authentic and profound. The age-old question. Is it better to have loved and lost, or to have never loved at all? I choose love. I believe love is too powerful to die. Love lives in the fabric of our souls. This stirs my soul. This gives me joy in my mourning. It does not erase my mourning. It sustains my living. I see. I hear with a piercing clarity. I see the smiles of the loved one who remain. I hear the roar of laughter with piercing precision because I know the groans of great grief and wailing. The joy is in the discerning sense you gain. Beauty awaits to be found in your days. I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin with heightened sensitivity because I know the bitter cold of sleepless nights terrorized with the vastness of loss. When the nights are dark you become desperate for the rays of light. If you search, you find them. When your heart is broken into a million pieces you are blessed with a sensitivity for all that is pure and true. I now know a broken soul hears the melodies of love, life, and laughter with a more perceptive tone.