I opened to my beloved, but my beloved had turned away and had gone!
My hear went out to him as he spoke. I searched for him but he did not answer me.
Song of Solomon 5:6
Have you ever been mad at somebody there’s honestly no use in being mad at? That person is so implacable, so steady, so consistent in patiently waiting for you – and loving you during your whole angry fit – that the sulk is totally ruined. Railing against some people is about as effective as throwing yourself across train-tracks to stop a speeding locomotive. Let me tell you, feeling exactly as if you’ve been squished by that zooming train, flattened and left behind to wonder that you’re still here all in one piece is an experience you want to go out of your way to avoid.
It’s at those times when everything seems to pile up. All the precariously balanced dishes of your life – the brightly colored plates, the two-color bowls, the sparkling clear glasses, the amazing spoons and pronged forks and pointy knives – all hovered atop one slender stick, an amazing balancing act. Then you trip over an imperfection in the ground, some personal defect perhaps, or an unexpected event, and all those dishes come crashing down in a shower of color and broken china and sharp edges. They slice you on the way down, cutting your head and arms and face; then the dishes scatter at your feet a rainbow of frustrations and disappointments, jagged pieces of things you hoped for or expected or planned.
The worst part is having to get out the broom and meticulously sweep up all those dish-bits. The careful cleaning up to ensure no stray hopes cut somebody’s foot is the most painful part of the whole failure process. Dust bunnies and dirt and crumbs adhere to the broken shards and make you realize that not only did your balancing act miserably fail, but you also haven’t vacuumed the floor in donkey’s years.