These days I'm reading lots of laments. I've been getting into them. I've been studying them, disecting them, looking into their form, reading their historical contexts, researching the patterns of their original language. I've even tried writing a few of my own.
On Thursday I read something which, though it may sound very basic and obvious to most people, startled me. I put my book down and realized I hadn't thought this thought for a long, long time. It was like a voice inside said slowly, "Oh ya...I forgot about that."
Laments don't last forever.
There is a storm of grief, of confusion, of pain, of anger but then the clouds break-up and the storm ends. Laments are the honest, uncencored emotions of the moment. They are the sounds of agony which are right here and right now. But they don't last forever. They are the way to deliverance. They are the path to rescue. But the journey doesn't go on and on. There is an end. And those who lament will, one day, look back on what is presently the overwhelming and all-defining reality of the moment and speak of it in the past tense. They will say things like, "I remember when that happened." Or, "Those were difficult days."
Because the storm will be over. And they will lament no more.
