This Tide Knows What to Take
Slowly am I shucking off the notion that things at rest near me will remain that way.
That all things, or anything, stays the same.
Biting down into a buttery flaky-crusted veggie samosa, I don’t mean to ask God a why but a what comes in response — “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away”, realizing that I have been clinging to and holding onto what was given in disbelief it could be taken away.
When peering over my samosa and the sky rises into a space in my head, I see all that has ever been taken away. Following with it a comfort, a familiarity, routine. A complacent “we’ll see”.
But I’ve been playing at an exhaustive errand of fighting what God will take and I will keep. Assuming the choice is mine.
My mind is catching up to my spirit in this sense.
The Spirit, knowing as it often does, prematurely sensing the cleaving to come because it was always too much work; too hard and too fleeting to maintain. Real connections aren’t that tough to knead. The mind although trying to map out the fastest route to avoiding pain and ensuring comfort in a homeostasis that the tide months ago washed away. Now, the avoidance of pain is rerouted in making it to bed at a reasonable time and the comfort hidden in samosas and weekly lunch meets with the people and things the Lord’s gracious tide has not taken.
But shouldn’t it read, “The Lord takes away and the Lord gives” in that order? Because these eyes so accustomed to salty water like that of the seas now take in the moon and sun in switching position, the gleam of a daybreak and dusk of a day end. The tide taking it promised and giving perspective in its grace.
