Thursday, March 29, 2012
practicing last words
I've never seen the trees bloom this early before. I have to remind myself that it's still March, that we could still have snow for many weeks. (Of course, it would immediately melt on the warm ground, so my heart doesn't really care.)
This has been a winter and spring that I will never forget as long as I live. It's the year that I braced myself and winter just petered out before it ever really arrived. It's been a season of mercy and warmth and unusual freedom. It's been a little bit of heaven.
Being the pessimist that I am, my thoughts have turned to worries over global warming and possible dire consequences down the road. (Don't tease me, I've always been this way.) But even if that's the reality there's nothing wrong with enjoying the sun while it's bright in the sky. Even if this is the first rumblings before the world caves in, I'm content today. In fact, I'd like to take this opportunity at the precipice of possible calamity to tell you all that I love you, and to thank God for you and for this moment. It's really all we have when everything else goes dark.
Does that strike you as unnecessarily bleak or weird? It doesn't matter. I like living this way. It's good to practice dying so that you can truly live. What would you suddenly care about if you knew everything was unraveling around you? What would be more or less important to you? How would your priorities change?
Even if the world is going to last for another one hundred million years just as it is today, it's good to live with the challenge of these questions. It wakes me up to the loveliness and preciousness of the leaves budding on the trees and the deep goodness of the opportunities to love blooming all around me. It helps me to practice my last words so that I say them well and say them out loud over and over and over again.