{understanding}

Birthday plans went off without a hitch and the birthday boy was thrilled to bursting with his big day. And then another mellow but still burstingly big day to follow with a second trip to toys r us to return what had been bought the day before (well, one thing was returned, but the clone trooper blaster was definitelly a keeper). {Did the parentheses break the flow? It needed to be said. We can't very well go on and on without understanding holding everything up. Not unless you want to dive right into mis-understanding...and where will that lead you?}

But of course you can. Go on and on {and on} without understanding holding everything up. In fact that's how it often works, with understanding waltzing in a little later, after all the drama and stories have already been told. And everyone looks up at understanding, sauntering in {late!}, surprised he has come at all. Each time, mystified- or irksome, as in "Where have you been! We have been waiting for you?" And he asks- "Did you stop the story telling and wait until I arrived to continue?" {Matter-of-factly.} And we sheepishly answer- "No." and think, we forgot. Again. Things really took off. We didn't think you were really coming this time. You were late.

Late? Right on time? We are glad to see him when he does show up. There's nothing left- no snacks, no drinks- the party's nearly over, everyone worn out from the drama, piecing together what they heard in the stories. Searching for understanding. Or not. Some never search for understanding and are happy for the diversion the drama gives. Some begin searching before the story begins.

If we are surprised, it is because we had begun to believe the stories. We thought understanding was to be found inside them. And he may be- sometimes- helping us tease out what will help us, what truths are lingering there. But sometimes he is not and the stories become a dead end that we wrestle with- holding tightly to them with clenched fists certain we will fall apart if we give them up in favor of understanding. Who would we be without our stories holding us up?

Understanding comes in his own time, when he is ready, when we can hear {and understand} him. He speaks in poetry, in bursts of lightening, with clarity, pulling together loose threads streaming out here and there, bringing them together, bundling them up into bits of peace and love. Setting us free. Or not. Sometimes there is nothing to understand. Things are just as they are, nothing more or less. And continuing to search for understanding at these times can bring the same kind of madness that not searching can bring at other times. But wait, did understanding sneak in here while I was busy telling stories about him? {Of course if he had come in sooner, there would have been nothing to write about today, and for that I am grateful. What would I do without writing to hold me up?}