Dead Life

Verses reflecting on leaving the old life behind.

Photo by Emanuel Haas on Unsplash

Winter is a long, dark season full of empty hills that crawl with wolves and other creeping, predatory beasts. At least, in New England.

Perhaps such a characterization is a tad dramatic. I know at least intellectually that beauty and joy are possible in the midst of such darkness, and even have experienced them.

Yet I find myself all too easily forgetting those moments of beauty and joy, and turning back to old ways, old habits—the old me that’s dead and gone—for comfort and some illusory reassurance during the darkest and coldest nights.

I have to keep reminding myself that I put that all away. The old me is gone and the new me is here. But it becomes difficult to remember when daily I still experience the same besetting “issues” of the old me—anxiety, anger, same sex attraction, perfectionism, etc. Just because I have left those ways of living behind does not mean I have somehow become less those things (I am still very much anxious and attracted to men, for instance; those things don’t just magically go away, like many people would like to believe!). So what do I do with all these disparate pieces—this drawer full of keys that don’t seem to fit any doors that lead to fulfillment in my life? Because I’ve tried pretty much all of them, and they haven’t worked!

The irony and paradox of all this is that those “issues” are all part of me, even as they do not define who I am (we all accrue a hefty ring of keys throughout our lives, so to speak). Yet they are all part of what I am actively seeking to put to death every day as I continue into the future God has for me.

There is life on the other side of putting the flesh to death—but it takes a steadfast effort to be still, a daily choice to keep my eyes aiming up, beyond my circumstances, beyond my immediate hurt and hunger. I must wait; I must look to the hills and know where my help comes from. The hills are full of wolves—but I have my Shepherd with me, and He has my good in mind, even when I don’t.

I explored many of these feelings and themes in the following poem. I hope you enjoy!

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Dead Life

As flowers in-furl, silver with the frost,
and golden hours turn to a gloaming gray
(refracting the gleams of a fading day),
we dimly see the greener seasons—lost
somewhere back before the first blooming bud.
We think spritely the yester-years of youth,
forgetting what we squandered of the truth,
claiming wisdom while chewing bitter cud
in a dead field. But that is all behind!
This dead old life holds nothing for us here,
though hunger howls in empty hills ahead,
and wolves of doubt descend to feed on fear.
We must endure these dark and weary nights,
and keep the fire of life within out sights. 

©Graham Jackson, 2024