We are all going to die. Though I believe that we do not die before our time is up. Nor do we go through things that we are not supposed to go through.
So that’s what I believe, on the one hand. But with a renewed backdrop of terror in Jerusalem, I suddenly find myself, well, a little terrified. Any feelings of faith, love, trust and the big picture get tossed aside as I nervously go about trying to keep myself and loved ones safe. Trying very hard to control and determine reality.
All the calculations start: try to avoid peak hours in the market on Fridays; smile at the Arab shop assistant so he will realize that I am not bad, that I just want truth and the best for all people; cling tightly to my baby’s pram; freeze at every passing siren; sink at the drone of helicopters above. Where are they going anyway? Their presence reminds me of a serious reality beyond my little bubble life. Reminding me that I can’t just whistle away my days tidying up sticky and wooden blocks after my children. I need to do what just I am here to do. Because it’s what I’m here to do. Because I fear I won’t get the chance if I die. Because the world needs everyone to contribute their very own blessed, special and unique piece.
Which makes it hard because I kind of am whistling away my days tidying up sticky and wooden blocks after my children. Not doing a very good job at it. Somehow, there are always more. And I’m trying to be patient. Also to be patient that I am not patient. To trust that the time will come when my path will be clear and I will forge ahead full steam.
So back to death. It is part of life, right? Well, why doesn’t it feel okay when it is natural? Is it because I want so badly to live and to shine light in the world? Or because I am quite simply scared of dying and of death. Honestly, both.
Exhale. Try to clutch onto the faith that gets obscured by my hyperventilating self. To grab hold of it and to bring it within, drink it, internalize it. Flood my being with a deep sense of trust, that I actually do have, that I am not alone, that there is a plan and a bigger picture. That just like I have felt and been protected in so many other contexts, once again I am not alone and it will be okay.
A reminder to live and not just let the days pass by. Even the days when all I do is tidy up sticky and wooden blocks after my children. Because even on those days I can do so with a smile and a gratitude and gentleness and sweetness that will remain with them and the world forever. And trust that there will come a time, may it be soon, where I do my thing for real in the broader world too.
This is not a post about death, it’s really about life. May we live all of our days. May our days be long. May we know just peace and love and tolerance with ourselves, and those around us, and the whole whole world.