There is a small comfort in tragedy.
It is the promise that whatever was destroyed can be rebuilt.
Whatever was lost can be found.
It makes me think of one of my favorite passages from the Lord of the Rings:
“All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring; renenwed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.”
It is the assurance that nothing, NO SINGLE THING, can’t be fixed. That brings me great comfort these days, especially as I look back over the quarter of a century that has been my life.
Holy SMOKES there has been tragedy and beauty and pain. There’s been anguish and ecstasy. Sometimes, I think that someone as young as me shouldn’t have as much regret as I do, but then I look at my life NOW, as it stands, and I think “My God, Ben. This is an incredible life you’ve got.” I think back on my tattered relationship with the Church and how my great comfort has always been my great pain. I think back on my foolish youth and think how my great failures have actually been my greatest lessons. I think on these things and I’m continually astounded at the goodness of God.
Sometimes I feel like I can look right out into the stars and see to the edge of the universe. Sometimes I feel like there’s no mystery I can’t fathom. It’s like all this…LIFE…has unlocked some depth in me that I never knew I had. I mean, I know I’m fragile and damaged and broken sometimes, but wow…
My life is GOOD. It’s good. I can’t…I can’t even express what that feels like with words, to look out over this place, this space that I occupy and think: I am satisfied. I am happy. I used to think this feeling would elude me for all my life, that I’d never experience the joy and completeness that I was supposed to. Don’t get me wrong, things could be better, but for now…they’re good. And that’s good enough for me.
I say that, but then, I have to be thankful for the tragedy that brought me to this place. Isn’t that strange? Isn’t it strange to express thanks for our pain? But oh…oh, how appropriate.
I’m thankful for this tragedy.
I’m thankful for the mess I made.
I’m thankful for the runaround.
I’m thankful for the masquerade.
I’m thankful for the lonely nights.
I’m thankful for the long-gone dreams.
I’m thankful for the betrayal of trust.
I’m thankful that it’s better than it seems.
I’m so thankful for who and what I am.
I’m thankful for the things I now know.
Because the beauty isn’t in holding on.
The beauty is in letting go.
