Take My Hand

Thanksgiving has passed and I'm feeling aggitated. Maybe that's not the right word. What I feel is not overwhelming; it's constant. It's an ache that is physical, mental, and deep in my chest. What I want to do is reach out and pull Aaron into our world. He seems so close and I can't touch him, hear him, or see him. My jaw is tight and my brain can't grasp what I can't change. He's here and he's not here. I can live and I can't live. I can see what I want to see and I'm blind. I'm grateful and I'm angry and hurt.

I don't have a clear recollection of the dark and foggy Holiday season last year. This one is identifiable-- It's a blues song.

I'm struggling to be at peace. It's within my control but I am choosing to let some things bother me. All I have to do is turn my head and look to the things that I can change and peace will come to me. Maybe I don't want peace and instead I want turmoil. That's hard to say. I can't change what other people do so I have to change myself and accept some things as they are.

A paragraph which I grappled with to get exactly right was just deleted. The words were selected to make a point of how I feel about the rebuilding of a deadly object. The actions of some person is something I am allowing to fuel my aggitation. At my left hand are two books by Thomas Merton. I knew my writing was not God's work so I picked up the books and looked for something to lead me away from anger. I found it immediately. A summary I wrote of a thought:
Faith in God could mean to accept circumstances as they are, believing the experience is part of the journey of life; an opportunity to testify for God. Is this an opportunity to be led by the spirit when the flesh desires to testify for the self?

If I could reach through to the other side I could grab Aaron by his hand, which I can almost feel, and pull him back. The rescue seems so easy. I'm sure Aaron's on the other side of visible.

Tom