Wednesday, December 29, 2021

Guest Writer, Nancy Enna Cowart



Above

the

Sting

of 

Sadness

    


I grew up with two brothers. Watching them at the family table kept me entertained. I laughed at how fast they’d consume a full carton of milk. Their love for grilled cheese sandwiches and frozen pot pies escaped me. 

Handsome and gifted with a great laugh, my first brother debuted ten years before me. On a day when toddler legs journeyed onto a path away from home, my brother searched for me. He found me and brought me home. Four years separated me and my second brother. Quite handsome too, he tolerated me with great patience. One time he let me camp out with him in the back yard under an old green Army tent. Instead of toasting marshmallows over the campfire, I stuck mine directly into the flames on both ends. It’s the closest I ever came to twirling a fire baton. But once the star counting began so did the yawning and I took back to the house to wallow on my pillow.

My only complaint with my two brothers: they left this life much too early.

In the wee hours of New Year 1971, my first brother lost his life in a fire. He was nineteen. Since I was the youngest, the adults and my teen-sister were diligent in sheltering me from the details but I’ve often wondered what life would have been like had my first brother lived. I’ve often dreamt of more laughter and more toddler legs around the family table. I’ve missed what could have been. 

In December 2002, my second brother suddenly took sick and died. He had reached forty-five and had grown into a man of great faith. Upon his death, a lovely and devoted wife, along with two fine children were left behind. And so, with this brother, I’ve missed all that was.

Yet when I happen upon words such as these  . . . But there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother,  (Proverbs 18.24–NKJ) my heart quickens. How grateful I am to be reminded of someone, a true friend who never leaves life too early. I know this friend. We go back a long way and he does stick close. I’m prone to wander – to journey onto paths away from him. He searches for me, though. His kindness causes me to always turn back. (Romans 2:4) And he invites me to camp out – to actually live in the safety of his shadow. Even better than my own pillow, I wallow on his ever present help. Especially when my heart is broken. (Psalm 91:1; 34:18)

These are all deep truths. Tested and tried, I believe them without question. At the setting of each sun, I count my blessings by pondering the benefits of these truths. (Psalm 103:2)  Much like the stars on a clear night, there are too many to count. There are times, though, that I still feel sad. After all these decades, I still miss my brothers – their laughter and patience. A mere carton of milk, a grilled cheese sandwich, or a pot pie can bring back a score of memories. And it tugs tightly at my heart. 

Of course, this life is fraught with sadness. It’s a universal truth. Anyone who ever journeyed on toddler legs will feel the sting. Sadness hangs out relentlessly in our global community. It’s where we all live. But I remember that this life is but a sigh and declare to prevail over such. Wallowing in sadness is not good. It makes me anxious and anxiety doesn’t serve me well. It’s unbecoming to my countenance. Anxiety has the power to lead me into depression. (Proverbs 12:25)

So I declare to wallow in the deep truths of my friend – the very One who sticks closer than a brother. By their own short numbered days, my brothers pointed me to my friend. With each of their deaths my deep need for my friend has been quickened. And truly, he sticks closer than my brothers, or anyone else, ever could.

On days when sadness tugs tight, I’m learning to be still. Quiet moments with my friend are essential because, from everlasting to everlasting, my friend is God. The maker of the stars calls them all by name while calling me by mine. (Psalm 90:2;147:,4; Isaiah 43:1)


And so, I exalt my friend above the height of the stars. Way above the sting of sadness. 

***********************************************************************************

Nancy Enna Cowart 
 is the pen name for a southern writer. 
 May you enjoy Nancy's first-time post on Sensitive on Purpose.  
 

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