looking through me

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 . . .
Why?
What if?
Why now?
If not now, when?
How long?
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.