Wisdom Sings and Love Holds

Wisdom sings lyrics we don’t want to hear and Love holds dirty little hands. I am driving with my friend and wondering about where this life is going. Ten years ago I would have thought nothing would be the way it is. Ten years ago I was hanging on with my nails ground into the steering wheel. Wisdom sings lyrics we don’t want to hear but the verses get stuck in our heads and rattle around for days reminding us of the things we dare not forget.

Revisionist history allows us to look at our days and change them to fit the ways we wanted them to go. Revisionist history blurs the edges of what was into a look at how we had thought they should have been. Or maybe not. Maybe the revisionist is only looking at what was when we couldn’t see it. Let them who have ears hear and those with eyes see. As children we argue that we all have eyes and ears. As grownups we wonder how many of us use those tools as they were meant to be used.  Every once in a while I catch a glimpse of Love unclothed and fall back afraid because nothing that powerful should be. A glimpse of Love’s unclothed ankle fuels months of dreams and years of striving.

Wisdom sings that time changes. I try to hold this moment in my hand. I want to hold it and watch it become and grow. I want to call it mine and bind it to my heart with strings that will never break. Nails dug deeply into the steering wheel screaming mine, mine, mine. Wisdom sings nonchalantly “There is a time for every purpose”. She sings almost under her breath and only loud enough for me to hear. And I do not want to use these ears to hear. And I do not want to use these eyes to see. Wisdom’s song becomes a lullaby-sweet and soft. My nails lift slowly from the steering wheel. I can see the half-moon indentions they have made. “To every season-turn, turn, turn”. I turn my gaze outward and see that for this moment to have been another had to pass away. I open up my hand and the moment flies.

Looking outside of myself, I catch a glimpse of Love. He is holding the hand dry and wrinkled with filth caked deep below the nail. I watch Love hold the hand as Wisdom sings her tune.  Time is lost between them. Days weeks months and years race around them like lovers or children and Love holds her hand through each pass. This is the way the world ends, not with a whisper or a bang. This is the way the world ends, in the quiet of Communion with Wisdom singing softly and Love holding dirty hands.

In that moment, with my hand open to let go of the moment and Love’s hand closed on her tiny hand, in that moment, my heart breaks out in joyful song because now, now we are free. We are free to sing praises that flow from hearts drinking deep of Love’s heart. We are free to dance dances that inspire children to live. We are free to let go of all our moments because there is a season for everything. There is a season for a joy that lasts beyond any moment and carries us on wings we have never imagined. Let the seasons turn because Love has gone before us and made our way. Let the seasons turn and let wisdom sing because we are safe. We are loved. Time is neither for us nor against us. Time is and we are. We are loved.