I will miss the rolling hills and fields of Idaho. As George and I were driving to the airport I gazed across the brown turned up earth and noticed a half moon hanging wistfully in the late afternoon sky, gazing maternally over the same fields as me. I haven’t slept much this week and drank far too much coffee this morning, which leaves me in an exhausted, buzzing state of mind, with no room in my head for thoughts and plenty of room in my heart for unasked emotional pangs.
I lit another cigarette with Papa Roach blaring on the stereo and let a feeling of hopeful sadness wash over me as my eyes wandered aimlessly over the landscape. There’s a lot of evil in the world, a lot of darkness and suffering, seemingly random and unfair in it’s distribution. Following my eyes example, my mind wandered over various situations and people I’ve interacted with recently, giving a visceral collage of examples to that darkness.
And yet, somehow, in the deepest part of my soul, I could see the glorious end of all things. Somehow, and I really don’t know how, I know that all will be made right and beautiful. There is some unshakable part of me that never falters in this belief. Not belief but knowledge. I caught a vision of how the fields before me were somehow tainted with imperfection from the overflow of sin from humanity, and yet they were still beautiful. Waiting for the day when even the hills will be complete and at peace, they stand there expectant, a testimony to the creator and redeemer of all things, content in their existence. Hopeful sadness is the best sort of sadness I think. A painful ache over the current state of things with an insight into the beauty that it still retains and a vision of the peace that lies ahead.
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