Buttermilk Biscuits (Part 2)
Posted: January 8, 2012 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: church, gay, gay love, heartbreak, homosexuality, religion, seasons, trees, winter 23 Comments »Truth be told, the story didn’t end happily: I fell in love; he didn’t.
The week after we broke up, I was leaving work and I looked over my shoulder, out of the back window of my two-door, silver Mazda truck, to make sure I wasn’t going to hit anything when I pulled out of my parking spot.
The road was clear, but my eyes landed on a monumentally large tree across the street, reaching no less than 40 feet into the crisp, wintery air. The late-morning sun was sneaking its way through the branches and leaves, sending tubes of light through the fog that hung like hot breath on cold nights. It was windy that day.
The gusts came like punches.
Seconds after I noticed the tree, one of them hit, one of these arresting, blustery blows. It was like a giant stood behind the branches and, cupping his hands over his mouth, blew hard as he could. All at once, thousands of leaves shot from the tree.
Thousands of green, almond-shaped leaves.
Suspended for a moment, the leaves stood frozen before beginning their slow, deliberative dance toward the asphalt below.
“That’s exactly what heartbreak feels like,” I thought.
Life has a pernicious way, it seems, of quietly sidling up behind our limbs and catching us by surprise with its powerful, unexpected exhalations: that call you receive to tell you she’s in the hospital again, and this time it doesn’t look hopeful; the meeting request from your boss that seems all-too-foreboding; his watery eyes as he tells you he doesn’t love you back; the letter that says you won’t be attending next September. When they hit, the powerful blasts of reality, we’re left watching our leaves scatter, wishing we could some how coax them back to where they so snugly sat during summer.
Where the natural seasons have an advantage is in their proverbially predictable pattern.
Winter always gives way to spring.
The seasons of the soul, however, tell an admittedly different tale. The gusts of heartbreak inevitably come, the deaths and disappointments and disparities and devastations, and before we’ve even caught our breath we’re standing naked and leafless in the dead of winter.
Without him,
without it,
without that,
without her,
we don’t think we’ll ever make it out of the cold. Some people never do.
Slowly, ever so slowly, if we begin to painfully examine ourselves, our leafless, job-less, boyfriend-less, parent-less selves, we recognize that beauty remains. Like the barren tree silhouetted on the mountainside, we become heralds of simplicity.
Friends still sit with us.
Children still hug our knees.
Songs still speak the words we’re pressed to find.
Until we learn to embrace our bare, exposed branches and recognize our worth apart from titles and talents, the buds of spring cannot surface, heralding new life.
When we learn to love ourselves, winter never wins.
The leaves rested on the ground until kicked up once again by the wheels of my truck as it passed over. In my rearview mirror, I watched them dance one last time before the road veered left.
Todd this post is perfect and holds beautiful imagery… I copied it into my journal, hope you don’t mind and that all is well. Blessings and Merry Christmas! ~Margeaux
That’s awesome! Hope you’re well, my friend.
Loving ourselves…..the hardest of all
Thank you for this Todd
Of course, Cynthia. Thanks for always reading.
listening to Bon Iver “The Wolves”, reading your words that paint a beautiful image. the power of good honesty and creativity. dear friend, thank you.
Stoked for dinner on Friday. Love youuuuuu.
Todd, that was beautiful man. Totally captured the necessary acceptance of our present realities and ultimate release of our “ego” and personalities. Loving your posts man. Thank you!
Thanks for reading, Matt!
Thanks, Todd, that’s beautiful. Love you.
Love you. See you in April!
Wow, Todd. Thanks. I’ve been dreading a conversation with my best friend that I knew would lead to heartbreak. I was unfortunately right. Still my best friend. Will probably never be my lover. Heartbroken I am. But I’m not giving up, and I’m going to learn how to love myself.
Baby steps, Ashton. Heartbreak sucks. Like, super sucks. Peace to you.
Todd,
Beautifully written – your willingness to expose yourself in writing, well, thank you. You are pushing me to think deeper, be more instrospective yet look outward, and broaden my view. Please keep writing!
Wooo! Thanks, Melissa. I covet your reading.
Excellent Part II Todd. But what happened to the buttermilk biscuits? I struggled for many years to accept myself and now being celibate I am lonely, and in need of a special someone. But, I suppose you never get too old to fall in love, do you.
And, you have a special way with words and imagery. Did you major in English in college?
I believe I now need to begin reading your entries more often. Maybe I can find myself even more through your thoughts and words.
I ate them
Celibacy is often a difficult and lonely road. I hope for your future.
And, yes, my major was biblical studies and my minor was world literature.
A great combination too for better understanding and appreciating literature and the Bible.
That interest is obviously apparent in your writing skills and composing. One smart cookie who knows what he wants and goes to it.
Todd,
I am sorry. I still am reading. I promise .I know exactly what you have been through. I lived it too. I made it through it and so have you buddy. I am proud for you.
Thanks for reading, John.
Todd,
I am new to your writing and am greatly impressed. I was directed here by Ron Goetz and I am friends with Phil and Sharon. I am a retired UM clergy, and will be leading a “Growing Through Grief” group during the month of February. The image of the tree hit by gusts of wind will be useful as the group talks about experiences of grief. Thank you so much for this and all of your blogs.
Yes. Todd told this story with grace and depth of meaning. He always puts me off to sleep reading. So soothing and comforting to me. He lifts me up when I am down.
Todd, your writing is so beautiful, I’m so glad Ron Goetz suggested his readers check you out. I am a straight ally, a lonely position to hold in an Evangelical church.
Your writing is a rare find.