Floating Through Our Friday’s Tombs

Monday, Sept 30, 2024

I live beside the Mighty Tennessee, which lays swollen before me, gorged on all the flood waters and sediment flowing here from Appalachia.  All that sorrow fills her now like a great tragedy languishing, spent out, as she spreads prostrate in our Tennessee Valley.  She will roll on to West Tennessee, a mighty preserve of open spaces to contain her.  She will then push north into The Ohio, west to The Mississippi, and south to The Gulf, which birthed all her drunken wretchedness.  I have prayed all summer for rain and finally got all our summer rain in three days, 12+” here at Fair Haven.  It is hard to hold in my heart the joyous nature of rain and the utter tragedy of its destruction.  My mind can’t make sense of it; desiring always to say, “I understand that!”.  So little of life is understandable, such as war, poverty, death, unkindness, wickedness, evil, and sorrow.  But one thing I cling to.  Last night, as is our habit, my lover and I turned off all the lights and sat quietly and listened to great choirs singing great hymns.  We then held hands and cried out to God for His help.  This morning I sit beside the Mighty Tennessee as it rolls along, as it has since “Let there be water!” knowing again, “Fridays here but Sunday's coming.”