Choices and Loss

(Isaiah Berlin)

This is the quote that begins the novel I’m currently reading, The Way the Crow Flies by Ann-Marie MacDonald. It’s a beautiful, painful, poignant, excruciating, brilliant book. There’s a part of me that desperately wants the story to stop (or at least be happy) and another part of me that doesn’t want to put it down. I’m sure I’ll grieve at its ending and grieve that it has ended.

All this aside, this quote really makes me pause. I read it when I started the book and now, on page 436 of 810, I can see how it is playing itself out in the text, on the pages, in the lives of the characters. It’s also true for me – probably half way through my life; playing itself out in my story’s text, its pages, in me as character. And just like this novel, its reality for me is sometimes beautiful, painful, poignant, excruciating, and brilliant.

Choices may mean loss. But loss isn’t necessarily bad – at least exclusively. What I’m aware of though, even as I type, is how desperately we (OK: I) try to negate the reality of loss at all times. I don’t want the pain of ending things. I don’t want to grieve. I don’t want to feel the ache of things now over or gone or broken or limping or failing or just being…I want things to be easy and smooth and comfortable and yes, happy.

I know better. I speak better. I write better. And yet it’s still my implicit (and probably explicit) demand.

What would it be like to acknowledge and even welcome the irreparable loss of choice? How might I begin to see it as blessing and grace vs. fateful consequence? Scripture is full of such stories: Adam and Eve – their choice meant the irreparable loss of Eden. Cain and Abel – one’s choice meant the irreparable loss of a brother and life’s security and safety. Hagar and Sarai – one’s choice meant the harm and ostracization of another. Jacob and Esau – one’s choice meant the irreparable loss of an undeserved blessing and a brother’s rage. Joseph and his brothers – the choice of some meant the irreparable loss of Jacob’s son, the brother’s honor, and a father’s joy. On and on they go.

But here’s the thing: in each of these stories and the hundreds that follow, even with the loss there is blessing – because of the very choice. Adam and Eve’s choice actually enables God’s ongoing pursuit of us and our insatiable desire for Eden. Cain’s choice assures us of God’s forgiving love and protection. Sarai’s choice and Hagar’s loss calls us to levels of compassion and an awareness of God’s kindness to those on the margins. Jacob’s choice to steal Esau’s blessing reminds us of God’s undying faithfulness and ability to work through and in the midst of our selfishness and self-centeredness. The choice of Joseph’s brothers and Joseph’s irreparable loss (which eventually turns into untold levels of gain) reminds us of God’s desire to bring blessing of what we intend as harm.

Can I say the same for my own life? In some stories, yes. In others, not yet. More than anything, at least right now, I want to suspend judgment. I want to trust that a larger story is being told in and through me. I want to believe that my choices – some good and some not so good – though inevitably laden with irreparable loss will also bring forth levels of growth and grace upon which I can depend.

Anne-Marie MacDonald’s book is most definitely worth reading. And my story is definitely worth telling, worth living – even with the loss. And with the ongoing choices. Who knows how it will end?