Joyful suffering, a brother, and a new set of eyes.

I don’t know where to begin, really. And I can’t really seize the words I want to say. I can’t quite grasp the concept of the feeling in any language. It’s a movement, an action, that no word may describe. A word that may have some equivalence of what I am feeling is appreciation. Yet, that does not encompass the full reality.

When I was young, I was a very imaginative child. I had universes and storylines draw out in my head, and a game I was always playing. All I had were thoughts to myself, and four-legged companions at my side. I always longed for someone to call a brother, someone I could share my imagination with. I even wished at some point God had given me one. I had forgotten that longing. I had forgotten that time so long ago, a different, imaginative life, before I was hit with the circumstance that I was an only child. One who was first born, and there was no possible way God would give me an older brother like I had wished for. Thus, I placed God in the box I had designed for Him. And I pushed that thought aside, much like the dreams of a little girl who had expectations.

As the years passed, and I grew farther and farther away from that dream. I reached a point in my life. I had already been faced with a cold New York breeze, and thanksgiving was well spent far away from my home. The snow was attempting to gather on the ground outside, and I was trying to gather the feelings in my mind. And much like the snow, it was a failed attempt to do so. Your back was to me, as you played your familiar tune on a piano that had seen much of your heart. We had just arrived back from the chilly cliffs of the Northeast coastline, that left a haunting chill through my soul—soon-to-be realization of a moment, that God moved in a way I had not anticipated Him to. However, this wasn’t unusual on His behalf. It was much like most of the times He’s moved in my life; unexpected, yet predictably good, loving, wise. I rejoiced in Him, He had given me what I once asked for such a long time ago: a brother. I cried such tears of joy, but a sadness swept over me—such a short notice. Soon you would part your way, and follow the path God has so called you to. And He will move in your life the way you least expect it.

Brother, brother, brother. I will miss seeing you everyday. Your presence, your silence, and your noise will often come to my mind, and will include a sweet moment of reflection. A longing to see all those things once again. I will miss the beautiful rainy days that were spent with you, smiles that came from soaked clothes, and laughs that were exchanged. I will miss the late nights and the stars that were involved. I will most certainly miss the embrace from the brother God had given me. I will miss climbing mountains with you, gazing upon the ocean foam, roaring waves, and constellations that light the way. I will miss trying to draw storylines together, and creating music with you by my side. A gaze so reassuringly certain, telling me that it’s not fine, and that’s okay. A God spoken promise of purpose uttered from your lips, and sometimes I doubt this very fact. But you remind me, that God operates in such extraordinary ways, in such perfect ways. God has shown me the joy to be found in Him, by way of your presence. A celebratory joy, and a joyful suffering, both to be found in Him alone. I am joyful, and not in the way where I am happy and smiling. I am joyful in the sense that God is so wonderfully good, and so wonderfully loving, kind, wise, gracious. I am joyful that He has given me you to teach me all these things.

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[A celebratory joy]: Then he said to them, "go and eat what is rich, drink what is sweet, and send portions to those who have nothing prepared, since today is holy to our Lord. Do not grieve, because the joy of the Lord is your strength. 
neh 8:10

[A joyful suffering]: keeping our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. For the joy that lay before him, he endured the cross, despising the shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. 
heb 12:2

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I don’t know if you recollect such things. The simple memories of shared humor, the impulsive tendencies to leave early in the morning when it comes to the dealings of road trips. The comforting words shared in a moments of anxiety. The avoidance of pure emotion when there’s already enough to deal with. I think about it so much. I can’t stop thinking about it, I can’t stop thinking, thinking, thinking. It frustrates me to just be constantly thinking. Suddenly, I am taken back to the solitude of the cliffs of Maine, with the roaring sea below. Seagulls flew above me, cackling. A chilly breeze caught the hem of my trench coat, opening it up, and sending a chill over my bones. I had a small collection of pebbles and seashells in my hand, ready to disperse them, to release them into the hands of those I held dearly and closely to my heart. A token of friendship that I longed to last so many ages like the stones that collected the cliff sides of Maine who kissed the raging sea. I had such peace and joy in that moment, but I knew of the nearing days to come. A season that was coming to an end and I didn’t want it to. However, a harsh reality faced me, that once faced Wendy some time before. Everyone must grow up.

And I wonder—why isn’t this easy? Because it’s not supposed to be. Whoever lied to you and said it was? It’s supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to feel like your whole stomach is turning on the inside, and your heart longs to be with those people once again. That’s what it’s supposed to feel like. And it will continue to hurt until that very moment you accept these things. And when you eventually do, you have a new set of eyes. A new set to help you see differently than you once did—and the lighting in the room changes.

So many new things to consider. So much more time to think upon these new things. Is this what acceptance feels like? Not much different than before, but I see so much more. I see who‘s in control—who‘s worthy of being in control. I am merely man and full of nothing but my human error. Full of sin. And I still miss all those beautiful and wonderful things that came from such a God-granted community, but I have a new set of eyes, you see—I see. Peace. It all comes down to it, the very end of all feelings and situations. I feel overwhelmed with such peace, reassurance. This is merely the beginning of another adventure that God has set forth. And finally it is time to sleep.

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It is the assurance that arrives with a gentle presence—
A peace of the night that is granted with a comforting face.
I prayed a constellation made to light my way;
A being that had already been made that very day. 
A Brother.

h.e. horton