This blog post starts mid-thought, as I had asked myself why writing on “real” seemed difficult for me. Here follow my ramblings.
Maybe it’s because “real” isn’t one of my favorite words. Don’t get me wrong, reality and I are on good terms, but there is this sense in which people use “real” to apply more to unhappiness and ugliness, and I contend that reality is also in the loveliness of now.
I used to wonder — after we moved to Massachusetts when I was seven — if Massachusetts were not a dream. What if, I mused, I were to wake up and find myself in my pink room in Florida with all these intervening days — and later years — fleeing with the mist of sleep. What if this isn’t real?
More than twenty years later, it would be devastating and baffling to awaken to find that all this living I’ve been doing has really not been done, to find myself still a little child with all the growing-up struggles still ahead and only the difference of knowing they’d be hard instead of discovering the hardness bit by bit.
If we could see the hurts coming, we’d cut ourselves off from the loveliness, wouldn’t we? I would, holding back, trying to deaden the pain by deadening the pleasure as well. If I don’t come to love this place, these people, it will be easier when I have to leave. If I don’t discover how good this is, I won’t miss it when it’s over.
Praise the Lord real life doesn’t work like that. We know, in vague ways, that hurts will come, but we also get to have the sweetness, full and surprising.
Only Christ knew all the suffering that was before Him and walked forward anyway, fully invested in spite of all, healing the very sick who perhaps later stood among the crowd calling “Crucify Him.”
He did it for the joy set before Him — real joy, no ephemeral dream; joy which by His love He sets before us, as well. “Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead.” Real light shines on us.
Today I write on Kate Motaung’s Five Minute Friday prompt, real. The button above will take you to her site.
©2015 by Stacy Nott