From Sand and Ash

by Amy Harmon

It was hard to love or miss someone you didn’t even know.

I’m convinced there is nothing worse for the human heart than rejection,

“We are only as good as the promises we keep,

“I would take it away from you if I could. I would take it with me. I would take your pain and bear it for you.” He would happily endure her sorrow if it meant she wouldn’t have to.

There should be no judgment in grief. People should be allowed to grieve in any way they need.

Life is like a long note; it persists without variance, without wavering. There is no cessation in sound or pause in tempo. It continues on, and we must master it or it will master us.

We reach for things we shouldn’t have and we grasp what isn’t ours.

We are all products of the places we are raised, the people who love us or have power over us, and the things we hear, over and over again, as we grow.

Many will seek to tell me what God’s will is. But nobody knows. Not really. Because God is quiet. Always. He is quiet, and my anguish is so intense, so incredibly loud, that right now I can only do my will and hope that somehow, it aligns with his.

I want to do the right things for the right reasons. Not because someone will judge or someone else will wonder. Not because of tradition or pressure. Not because I’m afraid or embarrassed to do anything else. And not because it’s what people expect. I want to do his will. But that is what I struggle with most, knowing what his will really is. Not his will according to the Catholic Church, but his will.”

Love often had a terrible cost.