Lonely nights

We did this already; we had this time to be apart.
We started separate, though still together; we had a separate start.
Who draws these lines and makes us move? What is this force?
What makes you go and holds me here? It's you, of course.
But am I selfish for wanting you,
Or has your selfishness become my due?
It's your right to be this way; but what about my rights?
Has everything I've ever done led to these lonely nights?

in memoriam Valerie Ford

She was called the Tie-Dye Queen, and

She was the one who put two I's in Isaiah.

She said nappies instead of diapers (and when

She said diapers she used three syllables) and

She got beet-red when we said bloody, as in bloody this and bloody that.

She lived in a house on a lot next to the church

She attended with us who loved the way

She read the scriptures and made announcements.

She sang in the choir and brought her rainstick.

She led the church ladies in crafting kits for kids, and

She compelled us to turn in our blunt scissors.

She was called the Tie-Dye Queen because

She tie-dyed anything the dye would take to.

She tie-dyed tablecloths and tapestries;

She tie-dyed clothing pieces and pastors. In this way,

She coloured her world. You could say (and should say)

She coloured her world with much more than mere dye.

She brought humour and wit and grace as

She brought life to our church and community.

She was a bringer of life and the spirit.

She will be missed. Lord, will

She be missed! as we continue in this world

She made so much brighter by her presence. Indeed,

She will be missed and remembered, knowing

She carries on in heaven now, and it should not surprise us if

She tie-dyes the very clouds to red green blue yellow orange purple and all
       the colours in between.

She was, after all, the Tie-Dye Queen.

vows

What a modern age. We nearly live in a post-marital time, where children born out of wedlock are common and the marriage that does get entered into is broken as easily as fine glassware. What does it mean to be married? It used to be this solemn vow that two people made to never part, that sanctified and solidified a bond between these two people stronger than death. When did our words become so fragile, so changeable?

I suppose we shouldn't generalise; there are plenty of marriages out there that work, where children are born into happy families instead of uncertain times. (Are there any certain times?) And marriage doesn't have to be all about the children. There's another thing—love—that's meant to keep people together.

And love does. Love exists. Love makes us do the crazy stuff that we'd always said we'd never do but, when you put it in the context of being in love, you get a different perspective and suddenly you're taking the leap. Love gives us hope when there shouldn't be any, gives us a reason to get up in the morning. So when that love is challenged, or disrespected, or thought of carelessly, sure, we get a little agitated. It's not the way things were meant to be. This isn't what we signed up for.

One thing is for sure: there can be no selfishness in love. Love itself should be selfless, and marriage, by extension, should be the most selfless thing out there. When we start to act selfishly in marriage, we start to take away the very foundation of our marriages. We start to say that we, our selves, are more important that other's selves, when marriage is meant to guarantee that, while you're looking out for her, she's looking out for you. (Or he, or ze, or it, or however people want to identify in this gender-neutral age.) That's what the contract is. "Love one another."

Pain and sorrow, loss and want
Are storms that we can weather,
As we can with joy and hope
And love; that is, together.