The Hopeful Search January 5, 2010
I thought she was you,
but she wasn’t.
Whether I had found you,
but I hadn’t.
I know that our paths
must meet,
will meet:
destined before time itself.
A love crafted before time:
two persons, one.
Lifting each other up, ever higher;
rising, eventually, to heaven itself.
A long, arduous climb awaits us:
only by turning to God can we ascend.
But we have not yet met, how can we go together?
The hour of our meeting surely draws nigh.
God will draw us together:
appoint the hour of our meeting.
Deus scit quid faciat.
God knows what He’s doing.
Others tell me that when we finally meet,
the difference between you
and all others
will shine clear as day.
Therefore I seek, I search,
trusting that He shall find.
For if I knock, the door shall open:
the love of my life I shall meet.
Bitter at times seems
the task that befalls me:
to search, to seek,
seemingly endlessly.
Yet I ought not complain
nor lift up my voice in lamentation.
For what task lies before you?
One of waiting, hoping, yearning.
Yearn we both do.
But not in vain.
At the time appointed.
At the hour known to Him.
But not to us.
Not yet to us.
He will reveal the right time
at the right time.
And then joy:
joy in heaven
and on earth,
as we, at long last, meet.
But as the hopeful search ends,
it only brings about a new beginning.
For the sacrament we will enter
cuts a deeper, sharper path.
One running against the grain of the world.
Old-fashioned, out-moded:
the love of a man for a woman;
the love of a woman for a man.
Forever and beyond.
Until death do us part.
For the rest of our mortal lives:
two persons, one.
A hard task
but a worthy one.
Our calling.
Our vocation.
But all that lies ahead.
All that, we trust
awaits.
For now, I seek.
Trusting that at the appointed hour,
of the appointed day,
in the appointed year,
we shall meet.
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