Tag: darkness

Morning Meditation

My living room window is a huge, energy inefficient affair that lets in too much heat in the summer and too much cold in the winter.

But I will never replace it–because it also gives me a breathtaking view of the sunrise.  

Every morning my body responds to an internal alarm set to the time I was startled out of bed by the deputy delivering the news of Dominic’s death.

I cannot sleep longer.  

So I rise, make coffee and settle into my rocking chair with computer, Bible and journal close by.

I spend the dark hours writing, reading and sharing in community with other bereaved parents who wake to their own alarms, unable to fend off another day of living the reality of missing our children.  

It is so quiet that the purring cat in my lap sounds loud in my ears.

Slowly other sounds join the chorus of daybreak–roosters challenging the sun to a duel, birds flitting from branch to branch, calling out the news that now is the time to get the worm.

I look up and the warm glow of sunrise silhouettes bare winter branches of giant oak trees and reminds me that the world still turns.

Seasons still change.

And I am still breathing.

Darkness hides things from us, it fosters fear and isolates. The black of night turns familiar territory into fearsome wilderness.  The enemy thrives in the inky corners of unlit places.

But light disarms the darkness.

I venture forth boldly in the daylight where I would not set foot in the night.

So I treasure the daily reminder that darkness does not last forever, even the night has limits.

Open up before God, keep nothing back; he’ll do whatever needs to be done: He’ll validate your life in the clear light of day and stamp you with approval at high noon.

Psalm 37:6 MSG

Who is the Keeper of my Faith?

No one has dared to say it to my face, but they don’t have to.  In the darkness, whispers abound and they taunt me:  “Where’s God now?”

“What has this faith in Jesus done for you?”

And my first response is to add up the “good” things that have happened in my life and weigh them against the “bad”.

How do I balance scales that on one side include burying my child?

How many good things would have to be piled up to outweigh the heartbreak of losing my son?

But then my heart reminds me that this is the wrong equation.  The underlying premise of this arithmetic is that I can give proper value to the things I’m adding up.  Even more, that the scales I am using are correctly balanced, unbiased and trustworthy.

I want my relationship with God to be one I can comprehend.  I want to be able to explain Who He is and what He is doing.  I want to KNOW.

Adam and Eve KNEW-they walked in the cool of the Garden with the Lord God.  And even that was not enough to keep them from doubting His goodness, His promise, His heart.

So is it any wonder that on my weakest days, in my most broken moments I doubt what God is doing as I walk this valley?

If my faith depended on me, there would be no hope.  If my feelings were the measure of truth, there would be no way to gauge falsehood.  If my future is in my hands, I am doomed.

But all is not lost–because from before the foundation of the world, God planned my redemption,  He arranged my adoption and He keeps my faith and my future secure:

Praise be to God for giving us through Christ every possible spiritual benefit as citizens of Heaven! For consider what he has done—before the foundation of the world he chose us to become, in Christ, his holy and blameless children living within his constant care. He planned, in his purpose of love, that we should be adopted as his own children through Jesus Christ—that we might learn to praise that glorious generosity of his which has made us welcome in the everlasting love he bears towards the Son.

Ephesians 1:4-6 PHILLIPS

Sunrise Benediction

My living room window is a huge, energy inefficient affair that lets in too much heat in the summer and too much cold in the winter.

But I will never replace it–because it also gives me a breathtaking view of the sunrise.  

Every morning my body responds to an internal alarm set to the time I was startled out of bed by the deputy delivering the news of Dominic’s death.  I cannot sleep longer.  So I rise, make coffee and settle into my rocking chair with computer, Bible and journal close by.

I spend the dark hours writing, reading and sharing in community with other bereaved parents who wake to their own alarms, unable to fend off another day of living the reality of missing our children.  

It is so quiet that the purring cat in my lap sounds loud in my ears.

Slowly other sounds join the chorus of daybreak–roosters challenging the sun to a duel, birds flitting from branch to branch, calling out the news that now is the time to get the worm.

I look up and the warm glow of sunrise silhouettes bare winter branches of giant oak trees and reminds me that the world still turns.

Seasons still change.

And I am still breathing.

Darkness hides things from us, it fosters fear and isolates. The black of night turns familiar territory into fearsome wilderness.  The enemy thrives in the inky corners of unlit places.

But light disarms the darkness.

I venture forth boldly in the daylight where I would not set foot in the night.

So I treasure the daily reminder that darkness does not last forever, even the night has limits.

Open up before God, keep nothing back; he’ll do whatever needs to be done: He’ll validate your life in the clear light of day and stamp you with approval at high noon.

Psalm 37:6 MSG