Because this day has been the pot of gold at the end of what seems to have been the longest rainbow ever. & you’ve been waiting the minute your head pops off the pillow & that still small voice reminds you that the day is finally here. Today is the day. & so you’re floating down the stairs to the smell of fresh coffee, & you’re assigning times to different essential steps for this one moment, & you need your hair completed by two so you can get your dress on by three to get your finishing touches completed by four to get your pictures taken by five to arrive at the ball by six. & the time leading up stands still & all at once you arrive & it takes off. & you count those songs, awaiting the next slow song opportunity that could lead him to look your way. You wonder what crossed his mind when he first saw you across the room. & it’s the last dance. It’s that feeling in your gut of sadness that this song is the fine thread still connecting you to this day you’ve been planning for an entire two months. All at once, this sadness impregnates you, filling your stomach like a cheeseburger, stuffing you to the brim with joy & sorrow, holding hands & walking slowly.
& life always comes back to this. The hairline of sorrow in every joy of new beginnings because of the ending it’s released. So you think this is end, love? So you really think this time is the last time you’ll feel this high?
Just because this one night passed, doesn’t mean there aren’t a million more ahead. Just because this feels like a death sentence, doesn’t mean you’re going to die.
You’re dancing, darling, &
this is not the final scene.
This is simplicity, how the music ebbs & flows, how the world dips you & how God stables your arching back.
This is how there are those weighty moments, where the music is more meaty, thicker, feeling more like the final leg of a swim.
& this is the thing, sweetest girl. You’re dancing, & just because you understand the music doesn’t mean you can understand the words.
You won’t understand it all. You won’t know how she felt the grace of God brush her cheek & why he fell sick of lung cancer when he hasn’t smoked a cigarette in his life. You won’t understand how God chooses who will be mothers & fathers & who will be aunts & uncles & whose children will live to three & whose will stand over their dying parents. You are not God. You are a one hundred and thirty pound girl in a hefty world. You won’t understand it all. You just won’t.
But you will be torched by it. Your world could flip upside down. You might lug that bag around forever. Some scars aren’t forgettable. Some things can’t be shaken off. But you can receive it. You can choose to open your arms & give this world the biggest bear hug you’ve got.
You could choose to keep dancing.
Death is death, love. Death is lying on a bed surrounded by weeping loved ones, holding hands. It’s when the car cradles the tree & you hear those sirens & your phone rings filling you with words like died on impact. That’s death, sweet girl, & I can nearly feel the rhythms of grace dancing in your lungs, giving & taking, coming & going. You are still very much alive.
Feelings can lie, you know.