Yesterday, I thought of the women in mourning. All day long, sort of tucked back and settled there, my thoughts were on the times in between.
I keep this on my desk, a little slip of paper.
There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. Yet that will be the beginning. Louis L’Amour
I’ve had some of those. Not only mornings, I’ve made it through a night or two when your mind finally decided to give it a rest, that real or imagined trauma.
I’ve made it through days moving through, sometimes falling into bed earlier than made sense just so tomorrow could come.
I’d say, “I’m going to sleep, tomorrow will be a new day.”
And each and every time I’ve been face first on the floor or knees down, hands open and up, I have made it through.
Sometimes I had no words, only my heart spread wide open to God.
Many believe circumstances are designed by God to teach us to hold out hope, to walk by faith, not by sight.
I know this to be true because I have seen newness of days after months of droughtful delay.
Like childbirth or special times with someone you love after a too long separation, the hard stuff fades, the pain or consuming wonder over why is so insignificant when the day is new.
Yesterday, the day in the middle of death and of life. God, I thank you for designing it to be this way.
For such a time as this, that we worship or we contemplate or maybe question and wonder.
We see now, Lord.
I do, I know…more and more and more…age, wisdom and circumstance; but, mostly proof, mostly proof has made me see.
Like the morning you weren’t there and they waited with heartache to see you again.
Jesus himself stood among them and said, “Peace to you.” John 24:36
I’ve had my mornings, Lord and I know they are because of you.
Mornings and long stretches of waiting.
I see now, just the time and season before beginning.
I pray you know this peace unfathomable, yet true. With time and mornings, truth and life.