TEMPORARY

There is no such thing as temporary. What we go through, today, changes us for a lifetime.  To make sense of “what is” we are fond of telling ourselves things will pass. And they do pass. But not without having their way with us first. It sounds daunting. But when we lean into the lesson, not only the obvious one, but the covert offerings that wash over us like baptism, we become something more, something new, something useful for the day.

“We were made for this,” my spirit cries. And so I listen. I can sense my cells reorganizing, transforming. Even my pace has changed.  And I can’t seem to get the lyrics of worship out of my head. A subtle shift, maybe. But I’m moving and speaking in softer ways that signal there is something altogether brand new at play. And there is no going back. 

This me doesn’t feel temporary. 

This me is born of something more primordial, biological, spiritual. And I like her.

Temporary. A nine-letter word meaning “joy-stealer.” Happy comes in the moment but joy resides in this altered state. Joy is the adventurer, lighting off-path to the risky places. Joy is the sweet whisper in the darkness when loneliness sets in. Joy is the rich syrup remaining at the bottom of the jar. Joy is not absent in the hard moment. She is magnified.

The mindset of temporary reserves the best part of who we are for another day. But what if this is the day for which all of me is needed most?  Where is all of me when the world gets real, does all of me show up? Will I pull the covers over my head and rock myself to sleep or count down from ten when the clock strikes 12? Temporary is the undetected stroke between “1” and “2” when  what was and what is collide. 

Temporary is rhythm. Not the song.