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April 3, 2014



The weak ripples of persistent guilt aren’t unlike a late winter storm… its not always there, and it feels like there’s a chance it won’t come back.

But it always will.

We can’t escape our guilt. Not in this world.

But there’s hope. It’s not always easy to see… a dim shadow on the horizon… a whisper of light as the sun says it’s daily farewell…

It’s not a feeling. It’s not an object.

It’s a person.

I don’t often see him. In fact most days I don’t care to, not lately. But that’s the great thing about him. He doesn’t care that I don’t. He’s there on the horizon, whether I acknowledge him or not. Most days I glance and say a pithy prayer.

Duty. Penance. More guilt.

I can’t change the past. He doesn’t change either.

I fight forgiveness. How can that be truth? How can that be reality? “I am what I am.”

The light hurts. But it shines nonetheless. He waits; I resist.

“… goodness in the land of the living.”

I want to buy it. But most days I don’t. I haven’t lost all hope, but present hope? Hope that things will be made right now, on earth? That’s a tough sell.

The ripples persist, but not forever. Soon they won’t. They can’t. Not in the light. This is not the son’s final farewell. Hope also persists. And those aren’t ripples… they’re waves.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. mom permalink
    April 4, 2014 8:40 pm

    Wonderfully written…

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