PERMISSION TO APPROACH THE BENCH?

“’Tis better to have loved and lost than to have ne’er loved at all”.  I oft question the man who first murmured the old aphorism. ‘Tis a noble thought, don’t get me wrong. But it is my own opinion that those who choose the former must have, in fact, ne’er loved at all. For whether it be through unattainable romance or even death, those of us who have endured loss know – for a fact – that the latter hurts less. To choose otherwise makes a masochist of such a man - though he may not know it yet.

I did nothing to start this, so I have unwillingly – finally – accepted that there is nothing I can do to end it. You created all things, did You not? Did You create this too? You granted me my person for a short time – though I knew not how short it would be and interwove our lives together seamlessly until I knew not where mine ended and where theirs began. You used this to teach me things about myself that I otherwise would not have known. And when I threw in the towel, as I oft did and many a times walked away, You set out to find me each time, entreating me to stay.

 You kept me in place until I yielded. Yet when my heart humbled to Your will You snatched them away – me the mule, carrot no longer wielded. “I give you no more than you can bear,” You say. Music to my ears! But when the Pied Piper’s tune no longer plays, it sure doesn’t feel that way! Who decides how much one can take, anyway? Where is this Endure-o-meter? I’d like to take a look at it myself. Is death the final gauge? Is there any way to cheat her?

I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, nay – that would be torture.  ‘Tis a punishment fit for a traitor – not that I am above such nature.  ‘Tis a thorn in my flesh! I mimic the great scholar. Three times – nay, more – have I sought Thee to rid of me of its pricking. For that I am a prat! Your response? “My grace is sufficient for thee.” Tsk! I’ll be the judge of that!

Permission to approach the bench, Your Honour? “Come boldly,” You say. Still, pardon my dogmatism for I come seeking a balm, one that numbs. About it, I have no qualms. At Your table I’m told I can obtain mercy and even the dogs eat of the children’s crumbs.