Last week the students in my Writing Close to the Earth online class read George Orwell's classic essay, "Politics and the English Language." In it ... Read More
It is what it is. I read it on a cubicle wall. It’s a country-craft sign with large, cursive script, a script to make one curse. Words to echo the curse. The sign is made to look like it was made on a farm, but it was made in China. And not on a farm in China. The smooth, shimmering surface lies about its age. It’s made to appear older with new-painted, fading, meticulously manufactured cracks, and fabricated years. An inverted aging starlet. It is intentionally distressed and so am I. But, I suppose, it is what it is. This sign that transports me to a funeral, a child’s sickbed, an accident scene. It is what it is.
It is what it is. It is a statement of resignation. After all kinds of trouble, worry, and fear, there it sits. We can live with such a statement, but not forever.
It is what it is. Is it?
It is what it is, but it is not what it shall be.
Children will not someday die, someday. Cancer will not reduce and end us like a berserker army invading every border, swallowing our hallowed map. It is what it is, but it is not what it shall be.
There’s good all over and grace in every breath. It is today and we are alive and so we ought to happily receive these gifts all over. Gratitude should be our theme song.
Thank God it’s Friday, but Someday’s coming.
We wrestle with the Not Yetness of things. With the good, broken, incompleteness of everything. We can receive a cold valley with thanks and still long for the sun.
It is what it is. But all the same, we long for it to be different. We long for it to not be all the same. Or, we long for it to be the same, but different. Like our best friends, we want them fully themselves. We want the fully realized valley. Sun and all. We want the valley on the edge of forever to slide on over.
It is what it is, but it is not what it shall be. Some day, when Someday comes, we will slide on over into the re-Edened earth. Sunrise.
This bought by Brother’s blood,
And so our family seal,
Runs red across a guarantee,
Of Father’s glad goodwill.
From me, my sons, sin you get,
An inherited curse.
From a Greater Father, you may claim,
All of the reverse.
All of the reverse. In that day, It is what it is will be fully and finally undone, by:
I Am Who I Am.
Featured Photo (above post) by Larry Fellows