Tuesday, November 20, 2012

turn them into something good

I've been beaten down, I've been kicked around//she takes it all for me.

He approached the meal of thanksgiving with nothing to be thankful for.
The heavy graces of the year had caught up with him, and he came devoid of thought or prayer.
So instead, he silently watched his younger brother.
As he watched him, he felt all the grief and hurt and pain that was dwelling in the heart of the younger man.

Unmanly tears threatened to spill out of his own eyes.
He wished his younger sister was there to calm him with her deep blue eyes. Little blue lights she carried with her always. Lights that dispelled darkness; little oases of joy.
As the tears came anyway, he silently cursed, and wished his older brother was there to show him strength. To look at him with his sad brown eyes, and say: life is pain, and that is our hope.
His heart was doubly pained as he thought of his older brother while looking at the younger.
His heart was almost rent in two, holding two hurts that pulled him diametrically apart.
Brother and brother, divided by the sword.
His heart yearned to embrace his little brother. Tell him all would be well and all would be well and all manner of things would be well. But the words were choked back by sorrow. All he could do was look at him and stand by his side, feeling every inch of hurt. 
He struggled to hold his heart intact as the overwhelming cloud of pain descended upon the world.


He looked at the man on the cross, but the Man remained as silent as a lamb. No words came from Him
He felt words forming on his own lips.
He repeated them over and over without thought.
A strange sort of litany to saints he did not love rolled off his tongue.
Only then he stopped to listen to his own words.
Our Lady of Sorrows, his own voice said.
Pray for us, he responded reflexively. 

The only thing more foolish than praying to a God who would not save was praying to His Mother, who did not care.
But at least the Lady could understand. 
Sorrow understands sorrow.

Instead of Eucharist bells, a baby's cry.

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