“Could be worse,” was the beautiful thought of the man still grieving the loss of his wife.
They’d been married twenty years.
He wakes from his slumber, just like every other morning, and the miserable pain of reality again sets in, as he considers his moment, sitting on the side of their bed. The terror of déjà vu is all too real.
Yet, he knows so keenly now that the world limps along with him. There is so much suffering. His anguish has been the ironical patch of blessing, bridging the scarred layers of his heart, to be open to it, and to be open to the pain he sees all around.
He sits vacillating between two vastly different poles: self-pity and peace. But the burgeoning movement of his heart is ever toward the latter; that’s the truth he clings to now.
It could be far worse. To this he is uplifted to live out his day with integrity and compassion, connected to a humanity that needs him as much as he needs it.
He trusts God.
© 2011 S. J. Wickham.