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Revelation

November 30, 2015

It is a cold, windy, very blustery day in Oregon.  The skies have been blue for sometime now, but the clouds and ocean air are starting to encroach.  I took an extra day of vacation time this Thanksgiving in order to shuttle my daughter and her family to the airport, and then step back and reflect.  There is much that has been said.  There is always much left unsaid.

I am so overjoyed with the news: That her little family will be growing; I am to be a Grandparent again.  He is a good and honorable man.  Her son is growing ever so smart and tall; the life they have made has allowed my grandson to really flourish.  I am truly proud of him.  And of her: she is a terrific parent.  Far better than I ever thought myself to be.

So I returned home from the airport, brewed a tea – thank you Barry’s for your Classic Blend! – toasted a piece of bannock with some apricot preserve, and put on a pot of Stumptown for the “late” risers.  Sitting in the darkened house at the morning Angelus, watching the hinting tease of a rosy sunrise, I felt opened to this particular poem from Robert Frost:

We make ourselves a place apart

Behind light words that tease and flout,

But oh, the agitated heart

Till someone find us really out.

 

‘Tis pity if the case require

(Or so we say) that in the end

We speak the literal to inspire

The understanding of a friend.

 

But so with all, from babes that play

At hide-and-seek to God afar,

So all who hide too well away

Must speak and tell us where they are.

One can love the still, silent darkness of the pre-dawn, and also love the bustle of the noonday sun.  To grab the promise of a sunrise, and feel the lover’s touch of sunset.  To be happy over a moment, or a memory, and at the same time, be saddened by a memory.  Or a moment.  My daughter calls me dramatic.  Perhaps.  I prefer complex.  I understand my self, certainly – there are a handful who I think really do.  And I have compassion for those whose grasp comes up short, though by no fault of their own.  But I have difficulty understanding those who fail to see the human condition for anything more than that which they wish it to mean.  Their arguments are specious.  One should always allow their comrade to sample trust, and try to explain oneself – if they choose.  But take hope: like a warm down comforter, all can be unified by love for one another.

The sun is coming up.  Time for another day.

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