And in the pause that follows, I sink into the love in His eyes and begin to see as He sees and feel the wounds that He feels. Wounds that I have inflicted upon another, the least of these, landing on Him.
The subtle setting aside of the wisdom and experience of one older in the way without even giving the courtesy of honest, informed disagreement. Set aside simply because the source can't keep my frantic pace.
Disregarding the old ways without consideration for whether they have any fault other than that they are old. Exchanging new for old, because it is new. Not stopping to consider whether the test of time might be worth passing.
Sometimes the phrases, the resemblances, the silences, the gestures of family rise up unbidden, and my response is not the greeting of familiar friends but denial of connection. In not wanting to be like them, I become like them. And shudder, neither knowing them nor myself at all.
Honor face to face, but beneath a thinly veiled anger and contempt for what I thought I was owed, but never received. Not content with the gift of given life.
The longing for those ahead and above to move on and out so that space could be made for me - not knowing the horror of having no covering nor that there is plenty of room at the bottom for any who would serve. Failing to recognize that maturity often means choosing to go for the sake of others where I don't want to go.
Watching the options narrow and fighting the reality instead of embracing gladly what will become of me. The sad denial of time's certain march.
"Spirit of the Living God, fall fresh upon me. Search my heart for all of the secret ways and hidden sins which I can barely acknowledge even when I see them in the mirror. Give me the courage to lift them up. Cleanse the poisons by your sweet, healing, soothing, Presence."