I write my best posts at night. Lying in bed, snuggling under the covers I compose beautifully laid out posts full of symbolism and eloquent soliloquies, all in my head. I wrap it all up in a bow and tie it tightly, hoping against hope that I remember it in the morning. But I never do.
Six and a half years of lying next to someone who can fall asleep at the drop of a hat doesn't do much for my insomnia. In fact, I struggle with a lot of resentment towards this person who can fall asleep and stay asleep so easily. I often lie under the covers shifting my feet, turning over to one side and then back again. I open and close my eyes. Count to one hundred, count sheep, count backwards, recite the ABCs forwards and backwards, list the attributes of God through the ABCs.... and write blog posts.
I've done this as long as I can remember. When I was in high school, even middle school, I would often get out of bed to write down something that I had written in my head. I was afraid of losing it in the dark.
I don't do that very often anymore. But one day, not long ago, I wrote something in the night that I had to remember. I fumbled in the dark and wrote the words as they were in my head:
born to die, not born alive.
saved from pain
but what he gained was our great loss
Yes, our great and terrible loss. But his great and wonderful gain.
I miss him. I miss them everyday. And it doesn't get any easier. I say that not in a 'pity-me' way; it is the truth of the matter. It is a truth that runs deeper than my personal grief. It is the reality of a broken world that is groaning with pain, waiting for reconciliation. Waiting for the day when all things will be made right.