I was once of the mind that grief fixates on the past. That she always looks over its shoulder at lost yesterdays.
This past year taught me better.
I’m no longer grieving my past, what was or might have been. If a genie knocked on my door and invited me into the yesterday of my choice, I’d shoo him back to the mason jar from whence he came. I didn’t choose or welcome this path I’m on, but I see God’s hand in it. The negatives of God’s mercies feel like a wicked backhand some days, but I’m better for the sting.
Instead, I find myself grieving tomorrow and all its uncertainty. There’s no point to this, I know. God allotted me a twenty-four hour sized plot of anxiety to subdue and cultivate. Meanwhile, I keep looking over the future-fence to untamed tomorrows. Maybe future-oriented grief is anxiety in disguise. Perhaps it’s feeling defeat prematurely, when I haven’t even stepped into the ring yet.
Tomorrow is none of my business, I tell myself. But bumper sticker-sized wisdom never did much for me. It’s this truth but not particularly helpful, at least not for me. Continue Reading…