My mind drifts, as I go to my grandparents. It has been an odd week.

I am tired. Of starting over. Of being afraid to let people invest in me, being afraid of relationships that will give me something to miss, to mourn. I am tired of not having definite answers, of having too many damn feelings welling up, constantly, of injustice and suffering and the lack of faith rampant in this country. Rampant in myself. I have been bemoaning the ripping of my heart, left in various places in the hands of friends who can do with it what they will. I try to ration it carefully, how many pieces, after all, do you have?

Should I really entrust so much?

I have lost dear, dear people-- to time, to death, to space, to fear.

I am almost at the point of welcoming a monotone, an easing, just let me feel nothing! It would be easier. That same lack would be almost a relief. But not quite.

That, would be a lie. Unfortunately.

Because, I genuinely want to know people. I genuinely want to know this God whom I serve and fear and do not understand and love. And His world. I believe that this world is full of adventure and heartache and is the most brilliant place. Everything, is amazing, really. So in losing the tiredness, losing the fear, in becoming an emotionless creature-- I would lose this also. The way thoughts burst like electricity and light and something palpable across faces of those you know, or are trying to. The dance of making an unknown face someone who means something to you, who becomes precious unexpectedly. The surprise, of the depth in the light of their faces, glimpsing realness there. Pride in knowing that these people will be and are living, always and eternally, and thinking, and feeling-- every second of every day they have. Not always perfectly, in fact-- but simply with integrity and honesty. Striving to be worthy of their purpose, to be men and women who are worthy of the image they were created in.

I don't want to know what it is like to have nothing left to look forward to, a sort of completion, a resignation of having lived a good life. Of being satisfied with dying, because, really, haven't I lived? No more cities to explore, no more hearts to know and love, no more wishes and dreams and secrets to share.

My grandpa is a good man. So as I listen to him speak with no sadness in his voice, it hits me. This is what he is saying, I realize, as I listen to the stories and ask questions about love and life and dreams.... Why does it feel like he is saying goodbye? Why is he done dreaming, and talking of life like it is done? Resigned to leave his home, the truth in his friendships, the hope of newness and wishes?

I have been praying for just this, I realize. Wishing so desperately not to be so invested in living, really living.

And it is this sentiment perhaps, that has me after talking to my grandpa for forty-five minutes, a man whom I adore with all my heart, pulling off the side of the gravel road and sobbing so uncontrollably. How dare I pray for a lack, when I have been so filled?