Many days this year have been a reminder every year is a gift and even more a reminder that it is on account of how great joy has been that our sorrow is so immense.

I scribbled that down and did not return to it.  It is obvious enough and obvious in deep and personal ways.  And it is obvious though our footprints disappear, our presence continues always just as it is obvious “though our skin is destroyed, we will see God in the flesh.”   We leave those sorrowful places with bad news as our property or wiping a remnant of dirt from our hands before returning home to our thoughts.

Some things are not ours.  The number of anyone’s days is not.  Then again some things are and among these the stories attached to days.  I’ve taken to recalling these or if there have been words attached to these, reading them.

It is not until one thinks on it that the immensity of the wonder of being in the presence of another becomes apparent, though this year I and many others weary of the reasons for these accounts.  We tire of the memorials and even the thought of a star shining brightly in heaven if it must fade on earth.  In time our thoughts will change and the comfort of eternity become a solace, but not at those moments when we are reminded of the finality of life.

Yet we do not despair.  And that we don’t owes all to a life ever had with God, but it owes more than a small amount also to a life had here.