But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us—to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
And many a man in his own breast then delves,
But deep enough, alas! none ever mines.” —“The Buried Life” by Matthew Arnold (1852)
to purge my Facebook of acquaintances when I graduate.
Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
While searching for an address, I found a few old love letters. Filled with old promises and forgotten feelings. It stung to read what he said he wanted from “us” and the never-realized resolutions to work for “us,” to be committed to his faith.
The words carry a certain time’s feeling, not an enduring promise. I placed them in the wastebasket. The words are empty; now they’ll mix with apple cores and popcorn kernels, decomposing with other remains of what one once ingested.
I no longer miss him. But I do miss companionship. Each time I do, I pray. I trust that God will provide a friend to share my life with, but His timing is not for that to be now. I must be learning something.
I refuse to think of this time as “in-between.” Instead, my life is moving and I must move along with it. I was born alone, I’ll die alone. I am just as functional, maybe more so. It’s just a fight to believe that I am whole.
If you feel this way, pray with me.
God, you have created me. You ordained my life and you sustain me now. Though I can’t understand it and I certainly have a hard time believing it, you love me personally. I praise you, Creator of the Universe, and I give myself to you with all of my loneliness. You have shown me how unfulfilled I am apart from you; please make me whole by making yourself and your will the center of my life. You deserve all of me and all my worship. Here I am. I love you. Amen.