Much

Fifteen months of much
And I hate tomorrow
Because one year ago it held word of good news.
But I know that tomorrow,
just as today,
holds only the ash leftover from one ugly fire.
And in my mind's eye, my face is
covered with this ash and the careless wind
steals it from my wretched, grasping hands.
When will I ever learn to hold loosely to all things,
not my own?
And I stand powerless against the sweeping waters,
unable to resist the rising of whatever piece
of remembrance that chooses to re-announce itself to my heart,
Just as if learning it for the first time.
Wound and unwound and rewound again.
And somehow, I'm all of these things:
Raging
and understanding.
Horrified
and knowing.
And so I stand,
human,
Under the God who gave life to these words:

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze."