Try When Your Arms Are Too Weary

To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
And to run where the brave dare not go

The last two weeks have been a nightmare, especially for those in the path of Hurricane Helene. Such unbelievable destruction, loss, life-changing devastation. Hundreds of lives lost, homes and businesses demolished, thousands affected—all in a few hours’ storm.

There are no words to describe the shock and sorrow. A light-hearted post seemed insensitive, and I can’t imagine how it feels to be faced with the aftermath of that reality. Every time I see pictures of the damage in North Carolina, I’m stunned and speechless.

My heart hurts for every family.

And from my home, I’m looking out at another hurricane headed straight for us.

To right the unrightable wrong
And to love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star

What came to mind this past week, more than once after prayer for those affected by Helene, was gratitude for simple pleasures in daily life.

The first sips of freshly-brewed morning coffee.

Family and household route—in all its noise and mess.

Being able to sweep, mop, dust. Having a house to clean.

Even having to fix my dryer—twice—this week made me stop my moaning and remember those who’ve lost everything.

Memories—daffodils in early spring at Cranbrook, spring peepers in the Second Woods, riding bikes to the Heights to buy embroidery thread at Thomas’ Variety, watching Mom’s sheets snap in the wind from her clothesline, bread fresh from the oven, walking to school.

That list goes on to infinity. The more memories I recall, the more scents, sights, people, houses, and seasons pour in.

This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a Heavenly cause

To remember that life is worth getting up in the morning for. That family and friends are worth preserving. That each one of us belongs to a family, home, community, nation, and that we need to look out for each other. That even if I can’t change the tragedies after Helene, I can pray and take a moment to allow myself to see them as my family.

I write fantasy for fun and inspiration, and stories can raise our spirits and lead us into heroic choices, but nothing I can say will change the anguish and grief felt by those who’ve lost families, friends, homes, livelihoods.

I can at least acknowledge that loss.

For I know if I’ll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I’m laid to my rest – “The Impossible Dream” (words by Joe Darion)

God bless all of us, and He does.

And suffers with us.