I buried myself in spreadsheets at work—grateful for a looming deadline—to distract from the barrage of the news hitting ever closer to home.
But as I left the busyness of business behind, the quiet of the commute betrayed me. My mind looped in hopeless circles.
A few weeks ago, I downloaded the newest release of one of my favorite groups, but I hadn’t listened to it enough to sing along yet. So I turned it on as I drove and focused hard on the lyrics.
A song came on about sorrow and chaos. It felt all too appropriate, but I couldn’t quite make out the chorus. Was it “but I know, I know / You remain the same / even in, even in / my wandering” or “but I know, I know / You remain the same / even in, even in / my wondering?”
One little vowel makes such a big difference. I might not be wandering right now, but, oh, I am wondering.
I wonder . . .
If not now, when?
Why her (or him or them or us)?
Why not her (or him or them or us)?
To what end?
Does it matter?
I don’t know. All the wondering in the world won’t soothe the sorrows or still the chaos. “But I know, I know / You remain the same.”
And I hold on to that unchanging Hope in the wondering . . . and wandering.
I wrote this one year ago today. I have the same annual deadline this week, and once again I find myself grateful for the distraction and dismayed by the barrage of news that one year later has only gotten worse . . . and closer to home. But I’m still listening to that album on repeat, and Hope remains unchanged.