Desideratum

The clock is ticking.

The clock is always ticking, always tick-tick-ticking.

The sun is burning, burning, burning. The moon is rising. The moon is rising. The moon is rising.

The world is turning. This world is turning, turning, turning.

Our hearts are yearning. Our hearts, our hearts, our hearts are yearning.

The days get away from us. The days roll right out from under our feet and leave us reeling, leave us tottering, wobbling, unsteady, old.

We get broken.

That puppy that used to strain at his leash and lunge his way through every day, where has he gone? And how did he go so quickly?

The dog that could never get enough of life, who wore out hours and whose heart blazed like a great, burning thing, that dog who lorded over an entire island every summer and who was ever ready to go wherever there was to go, our bright and raging boy, paragon of ‘good dog’ if ever there was one, how could he have grown old already?

How is that possible? How could any just and loving god allow such a thing to happen?

It hurts. It aches in a million ways. It shakes my faith to the core.

Yet at the end of another hot, rough day I nonetheless find myself begging for grace, for mercy, for patience, for time. More time.

Please.

More time.