Disappointment is inevitable, unavoidable, and the price of being human.
It shakes the very grounding of our being.
Parent, child, spouse, friend, work colleague, the person that sits one pew ahead in church, even the stranger has the power to distort the view.
And one is assured the body will betray as well.
Disappointment punctures a hole in the Whole.
We weep in secret, calling in question the greater Design.
If we are not careful, the heart calluses—Our nom de plume transcribed, the Cynic.
At the crossroads of every disappointment there are two directions one may take: The Mausoleum of Despair
Or, turn the gaze heavenward.
Kneeling at the altar, Divine consolation at hand, we rise for another day.
Hope does not disappoint.