“Never” can be an agonizing adverb to live with: I’ll never have children. I’ll never get out of this wheelchair. I’ll never see my departed loved ones. I’ll never be young again. This constricting modifier makes it difficult to breath some days.
I’m talking about hard nevers, not the soft ones. Soft nevers have some give to them: I’ll never get married. I’ll never find the right job. I’ll never lose weight. Hard nevers are nailed down by obdurate realities like the arrow of time and the dagger of death.
Or are they?
The Bible promises our most painful nevers will get their “n’s” knocked off in the next life. What we lost here will be restored for“ever.” When I can manage it, this hope keeps me looking ahead instead of looking around.
“Never live in the past;
there’s no future in it.”