Most of the time, I don’t even think about it.
Then it jumps out at me as I walk along the school hallway.
It’s there. And I’ve come to accept that. Whatever it is.
It’s something that’s there… and that’s not there at the same time.
My friend calls it a black hole. I’ve called it a grey blanket.
Where you look… and as hard as you look, you can’t see it.
But you know it’s there.
It’s the kind of thing that can cripple you.
Or you can embrace it.
I can’t see the other side… just the foggy, clarity of it’s existence.
I used to fight it.
I’ve sobbed about it.
I’ve looked it — in all of it’s indistinctness — in the face.
I’ve accepted it.
And I move on.
Sometimes not knowing what fills in the missing pixels can torture you. You stare at the picture. You see what is there. You see what might be there. But you can’t see it.
Sometimes… it’s peace just to know it’s okay.
Okay that it’s there in it’s blurry mess.
Okay that I can’t remember the rest of it.
Okay… that it’s not okay.
Sometimes… its incredible comforting to think that God is on the other side of that black hole. That He sees the whole picture… clearly.
That He’s got the broken fragments of my memory in His hands.
And that whatever He holds… it’s gonna be okay.
Because He can make beauty out of brokenness.
Light out of darkness.
Life out of death.
I look again at the fuzzy picture in my mind…
I look away.
That’s God’s memory.
He’s taken it away…
To give back or to withhold…
In His perfect sovereignty and plan.
Thank you Jesus.