The Bullet We Bite At The Searing

I sit here and write, my lover and dog warming me, alone in need of warmth as the morning chill of God’s sovereign dying of another woman, (women dying is somehow worse than man, as women seem more made in the resistant image of living) has taken up much of my heart’s room.  I hate death.  I read about her last night, cried into my pajama shirt, held my lover’s hand and prayed, trying to change God’s mind which often feels like trying to change a glacier with tears warmth.  I shook my fist at the dark heavens one night, mad at Him for letting someone die, the heavens mumbled something back like, “If I can take care of this, I can take care of him!”—Cauterizing at best.  I guess searing a wound is as Godly as it gets for the gift of life, life is the grandest thing ever imagined and if you get it you should expect some cost when it is threatened, a red hot blade on festered flesh is just a reminder that all of life is a fighting off of death.  “The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.” is the bullet we bite at the searing.