In the dream, it was her wedding day and I was running out of time. I had to get to the back room, somewhere in the deep, confusing hallways of the church, so I could see her one more time before she was someone’s wife. Frantic, I finally found the right door, and there she was: only she was in her little body. She spread her arms out when she saw me and I gave her one more running hug; I bent my head way down to kiss her head; a few tears watered her hair.
“We are so proud of you,” I said to the little girl she was, as her arms squeezed my waist.
Then, the wedding music began playing,
and it was time to leave.
and it was time to leave.
It is weird and sad that I never got to say goodbye to her little self like that.
Even so, I said it that morning
(and not for the last time)
when I woke up with my arms aching with the memory.
(and not for the last time)
when I woke up with my arms aching with the memory.
“Release what lies behind, strive for what He has to give” so they say, and I’m trying over here. But as much as I try to tenderly tuck the memories in for the night, these phantoms keep popping out of bed, showing up at odd times of the day and night.
I don’t really mind.
I like living in this layered place
where the past can walk through the present at any moment
where the past can walk through the present at any moment
I’ll keep greeting those memories,
nodding at them with a tearful smile,
or sometimes a longer embrace;
occasionally inviting them in for a cup of coffee on the porch,
but then releasing them back to the past,
turning my attention to this day, where He has more for me.
nodding at them with a tearful smile,
or sometimes a longer embrace;
occasionally inviting them in for a cup of coffee on the porch,
but then releasing them back to the past,
turning my attention to this day, where He has more for me.
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