"From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines, going where I list, my own master total and absolute, Listening to others, considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me."
Walt Whitman (1819-92)
"When I look back now over my life and call to mind what I might have had simply for taking and did not take, my heart is like to break."
Akhenaton (d. c.1354 BC)
And now, the current weather, from some random person we pulled off the street:
Saturday, April 03, 2004
peer Function: intransitive verb
Etymology: perhaps by shortening & alteration from appear
1 : to look narrowly or curiously; especially : to look searchingly at something difficult to discern
2 : to come slightly into view : emerge partly
3 : what we do to each other on the Internet
Odd, that you could feel sad when someone you never knew left.
After I had only been blogging a few months I began looking at some of the "recently updated" blogs that Blogger would helpfully offer me whenever I logged in. I'd pick a name or two and visit the blog, and see what was there.
Invariably, I would find something worthless and stupid, if I was lucky. If not, it would be worthless and stupid and misspelled to boot. But hardly ever anything good.
Until one day when I clicked on a blog titled "::sweetest.goodbye::", and I found myself transported to another world. This blog was not worthless, not stupid.
It was disarmingly vulnerable.
Here was the heart of a teenage girl named "Bek" who was dealing with all of the things that teenage girls struggle with, and inviting us all along for the ride.
I have no idea what country she is in, except that the names sound very strange to me. But as I peer into the glimpses of her life she shows the world, I can see that wherever she is, they are very much like the people here.
The Internet has done that to us, I think. All of us have had our worlds shrink to the size of a computer monitor.
I've followed Beks through the last several months, and I have dropped her a line a couple of times although mostly I just sit in the background and watch her try to balance her faith and her life and her gigantic and vulnerable heart. She shares her life in quick terse notes, sometimes about mundane things, sometimes about spiritual things. Sometimes silly (what young girl isn't?), sometimes serious, sometimes just deeply in love with her God.
It became obvious pretty quickly that this girl just wanted to be a gushing fountain of love, and be loved that intensely in return. I can remember a time long ago when I was that age and felt that way too.
For a time, things looked like they were coming together for her, you could see in some guarded statements as she placed her heart on her sleeve.
A few weeks ago, she postscripts one of her entries with:
you: thank you for the call, it was really very lovely and it really made me smile
Then, a few days later, she titles the post "new strength each day, greater faith everyday!" with the following postscript:
you: i can't believe i'm saying this.. but i.. i love you! *blush
In her trusting heart, has she inadvertently taken a great risk, greater than she thought?
The next entry is not made until thirteen days later. It is short and terse and full of pathos:
It's time to move on, sadly.
deleting this blog would be like deleting my memories. :(
so i'll just leave it for now.
That was two weeks ago. Her blog is now silent, with that one entry being the only addition after almost daily activity. Oh, and the name of the page has now changed to "I'm so tired of being here."
Beks, if you are out there, hang in there, hold onto your faith. If you are done sharing your heart and your faith with us, that's fine, but I for one will miss it. You've touched lots of people, I am sure.
In any event, thanks. I've remembered a lot, and learned a lot. I hope you are well. Great hearts like yours are rare.
Readers, if you have not met Beks, click on her link on the list to your left. Do it before its too late. Let her short unguarded innocent notes speak to your heart as well.
Then pray for her. I think she needs it.
The important thing was to love rather than to be loved.
W. Somerset Maugham (1874 - 1965), 'Of Human Bondage', 1915