charlesbreland.com

here’s a VERY late post that has been modified from its original format.

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It sounds odd for me to read that title above, given that for months, i thought Jan 17th would have been that “first day.” that was the day that Emily and i had gotten back together and had really re-committed ourselves to our relationship. as it turned out, we would break up again on June 27 and 5 months later we would determine we would not speak to each other again.

maybe if i was a better writer, i could scribble something that wouldn’t fail miserably at relaying Emily’s importance in my life. if i am now a better person (if not quite good yet), most of the credit is hers. if i someday am a good husband and father, it will be because of the lessons she helped me learn and because of the earnest sincerety and kindness and the core goodness that she displayed. she truly did teach me how an adult Christian relationship should work. she was a fresh wind that blew across my life and changed the entire landscape in its wake. i will be forever thankful for the time that we were blessed with.

as a status report; all things considered, i’m doing quite well. one of the most important lessons i have learned in the last year is the need to be content whatever the circumstances. i am not yet satisfied, but i am content.

my favorite poem since i was about 12 (and yes i’ve had a favorite poem since i was 12, but i could also probably kick your ass, so remember that before you mock me) was by Longfellow. it resonated with me from the very first time i read it, and in the last few hours i keep thinking about the last stanza, so i’m plopping the poem in here. (and on a complete tangent, someone long ago had this framed for me – probably the most thoughtful gift i have ever received in my life.)

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream ! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real ! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act,— act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God o’erhead !

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

i guess i’m learning to labor and to wait.

aaaand if anybody feels like reading what i wrote bleary eyed the morning after the breakup you can do so here.