Sad Language

Sad Language

(“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test my thoughts.” Psalm 139:23)

I should be playing in the light, the sunshine dancing on my cheeks.
I should be walking with a friend, the conversation arcing across the air.
I should be a joy-well, a love-all, and faith-full, yet

My tears increase, my heart is incomprehensible, speaking its own

Sad language.

My younger self cried as well, but spent at least the same time smiling.
We wrote songs on the fly, knew the tunes to music we had never heard,
spent hours on the tennis courts, afternoons at the pool, faced fears
(me with more tears than most), and were sure we knew Jesus well,
so well we changed political affiliations, church denominations, and
dropped out of theater class.

The warning signs have been there, one hairpin curve at a time. My mind,
more certain than ever of Christ my King, my Lord, my Shepherd, and
my Friend; my mind has left behind the costume I thought was required
attire. Wearing Jesus only, I feel naked.

Once full of words authorities defined, my mind cries like a baby for
its native language. My Japanese friend told me her parents never taught
her the language (“We are Americans now”, they said). Over 90 now,
she wishes she knew more than idiomatic American sentence strings.

I cry more often, without warning, for what I think I left behind. When
He says turn, follow, and leave your luggage behind, I am glad to empty
my pockets and start out on the road. My tears are shed, my heart has bled,

For so much I buried when the noisy voices (at church, at conference,
or simply in my head) insisted everything die and stay dead;

And now I’m crying because, Jesus, all grace, all light,
wanted me to arise instead.