I read a friend's blog tonight, a friend who I love dearly and talk to sparsely. I really wish I were better about things like that, but for whatever reason I am not. Perhaps all it takes is effort, and I know I have effort in me, but my brain does not remember to do what my heart wants.
He is a dear friend, one of the dearest, who I think for a season in life understood me better than anyone else, and probably still understands me better some days than I understand myself, because we are so much the same. There was a trying time in his life a few years back that he talked about, a time in his life where I tried to help him. It was romance, of course, but then the Bible uses romance as an archetype of our relationship with God, so romance is never just romance. It becomes, quite literally, supernatural--bigger than life.
I thought I knew what was best, and I'll be damned if i didn't try my hardest to make sense of his relationship, I knew her and him very well, and maybe it was just selfish of me, to try to help work out a relationship that was out of my fantasy as much as anyone else's.
In the end, they broke up, and are still both broken. In different ways, but there is brokenness there. And there is brokenness with God then, a shattering, a cracking that let in doubt, bitterness, pain, disillusionment--and I wonder, what could I have done to make things better?
I tried, I really did. I tried and I loved and I gave of myself to them and it didn't just fail, it supernova-ed. It exploded and destroyed entire solar systems. The good I tried to do--how much of it is my fault, years later?
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