That Which Isn’t Eternal

Sometimes the deeper parts of me just say things. 

And while I’m learning that they are nowhere near always right, I’m learning that they’re always telling me something important. And I remember once, walking out of the bathroom with the buzz of British poetry, my morning Psalm, and the weight of relational commitment all fresh on my mind, my soul whispered “how terrible life would be if we only loved that which was eternal.” And I mean, truly though. Next to nothing is eternal- even the most meaningful and life-altering things. The most impactful things. Hardly any of them are eternal at all, in fact, most of them are fleeting and temporary. 

I don’t know why my heart’s been so dead set on knowns, certainties, and for sures- things that are supposed to last a lifetime and ad infinitum. Why a woman steeped in Ecclestiasical philosophy and an ever-changing body has been grasping at diamond-encrusted cockroaches- figuring that clasping to what can survive and last anything is what truly matters. But, I think the depth of how many unknowns there are has led to this sort of internal desperation. A desperate search in the dust and dirt of life to find something that can last even this- a pandemic, heartbreak, personal evolution, deconstruction. And no, not what I already know. This self-inflicted impoverished woman is certain that what’s eternal and meaningful can’t be found within what I already know- for some unknown reason. She insists it’s out there instead, even as her own soul clings to an everlasting Love and a sure sense of time, purpose, and meaning. 

I’ve walked in and out of several families. People I ate dinner with, laughed with, learned the inside jokes of- gone in seconds and without much warning. 

I’ve forced myself to stop and pet my older dog, knowing her days are numbered and I may be halfway across the world when I get that terrible call telling me she’s gone. 

I’ve let people in that weren’t meant to be in my heart forever, forcing myself ages later to out loud deem them not mine to care about any longer while accepting that they probably never truly cared about me at all. 

I’ve seen changes over and over again. Roads that ended abruptly, turned or backslid without me expecting them. Rivers that turned into lakes. 

But I don’t regret loving that which wasn’t eternal. Even as I sit now at a new table, with a known family, in a semi-new environment- my psyche half shook by the fact that every element of this was different only a few months ago. As I enter a new environment fully aware of how quickly it can be taken away since one just was. 

I think parts of me are still feeling the sting of fleeting things. Caught off guard by the ever-rotating tables and winding streams within and outside of me. The pearl earrings that sit dusty when they used to be staples of my wardrobe. The bullet journal that wonders what its purpose will be now that I bought a planner. The calendar that asks what will fill it now that I’ve ventured into the world of entrepreneurs and business owners and self-employed go-getters- a universe exciting yet fully alien to me, while still sitting in the odd space vessel of online school. 

C.S. Lewis once said that to love is to be vulnerable. If you never want to be hurt, you have to seal your heart away in a cold, dark, and lonely place- there you can be indestructible. 

To never love that which isn’t eternal would be to never love sunsets, weather, children, people, friendships, flowers, or food. And while I’ll never cry over lost alfredo, to love anything fleeting is to be vulnerable. To love with a fear of being hurt, weighed down by pounds of armor you can barely see through, is not truly love. And losing things will hurt, things changing will hurt, things ending will hurt, but there is beauty in vapor, in finiteness. It’s why the Teacher in Ecclesiastes tells the lover of wisdom to embrace the opportunities of today- and heartily. To seize the day, eat bread with gusto, and enjoy life with the ones you love. Because there is goodness even in the fleetingness of it all and it’s our task to find it and savor it. 

I guess I’m still walking myself through all that my soul keeps knitting together, keeps ingesting to try and understand this whole being human thing. This whole loving others well thing. In one of his letters, Paul tells the church to not just love much, but love intelligently- and so much of this season has been learning what it means to love intelligently. Even if I shouldn’t run around in clanky armor, half wounded and half bitterly alone inside my protective coffin, I’m learning how to love best while avoiding unnecessary hurt, because loving yourself well is also a part of this process for you, too, are not eternal and unchanging. Your soul may be, but you are not- your heart, mind, body, and soul are not eternal resources or unchanging elements of yourself. They can and will change over time and they can and will wear out if we do not love ourselves intelligently as well. 

And as I’m continuing this time- a time full of expiration dates both known and unknown, I’m learning to embrace vapor. To love what isn’t eternal. And, perhaps the hardest part for me, accepting that when the vapor passes and the finite ends, my posture may not be one of stoic peace and tranquility- but one of violent uncertainty and pain. That that can arise without much warning as well. And that isn’t a bad thing. Addressing what’s gone and admitting how you actually feel about it is incredibly important, because even though vapor is not eternal, the impact of it may be. The lessons you walk away with, the insights you gain, the memories you cling to- whether written down and contained in the boughs of your memory. The pictures you should definitely remember to back up sometime. All of these can be eternal in some way or another. 

I don’t know what 2021 holds. How much will pass, change, alter, or end. But I also don’t know how much will begin, grow, flourish, and impact me in the most beautiful of ways, even if difficult or trying. I don’t know, but I don’t know, and I’m learning to sit with that, in all my emotions and parts, as an incredible thing.