Alleluia

I went to the library today. Usually when I’m alone I try to read light, happy stories. But they don’t quite resonate. It’s not as easy to lose myself in something that doesn’t seem real. So I grabbed some hard ones. Ones that I’ve been meaning to read. I got tired of waiting.

I set up camp on the porch and began. Maybe it was because I was really missing home or because I was in such a beautiful place and it didn’t seem fair. But halfway through I realized it was hard to breath and that my heart was hurting. And then I started sobbing. Sometimes I forget how cruel and awful people can be. I forget that not everyone gets a happy ending.

I think it’s good to read the hard ones. The ones that remind us of how far we can fall. Of how easily evil can win. And what happens when we just sit. And watch. And forget.

So I went for a run. Just me, the stars and God. At first I was angry. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t right. Someone should have saved her. And then I realized that I was angry with Him. Because He lets the unexplainable happen.

I ran some more. To get the angry out. And once I had calmed down I realized that I needed to trust. Without answers and justifications and explanations.

There’s a song. It means a lot to me. It’s the song I sang when my grandmas left. And when I didn’t understand what I saw in Mali or what He was doing with my family. He gives it to me after I settle inside. It’s my favorite song to sing. My favorite song to play.

I think I played it for an hour. Quiet at first and then louder. Fast and slow. Over and over. The more broken down I am, the more peace I find in Him. I love that He can put me back together. I can’t imagine facing the ugliness without Him.


“I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wandering awed about on a splintered wreck I've come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty bats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them...”
Annie Dillard