The icy, wind creeps its way through the old windows.
Floor to ceiling exposure to the the cold.
We gather blankets from the nooks and crannies of this old farm house.
Trying to keep warm.
With each blanket we fight against the elements.
A struggle to keep winter at bay.
With each blanket comes the dark.
Warmth comes at a price.
I fight to not let that darkness permeate my soul.
It is so close.
Waiting
Patiently.
For me to fall.
For me to surrender to the dark.
To all the pain.
To a future that will never be.
There is construction at the accident site.
Workers walking all over the place where my child took has last breath.
Digging in the earth.
Taking measurements.
Again, I fight against the dark.
How do you do the dark?
What do you do on those days when all feels lost?
When the steps are hard.
We are a week in to Lent.
Into the time of pulling away.
A time of intentional focus.
A time when the One who came to seek and save sought solace
He dug deep to endure the coming wrath.
He purposefully took time to be in Communion with the Father.
I have noticed each evening the sun set is a little later.
The sun rise. . .a little earlier.
Small insignificant amounts, until you see them as a whole.
I can not see the whole picture of my life.
I have a very narrow perspective.
With a perspective shift, I see differently.
The quilts over the windows give a cozy feel.
Shadows cast from the glowing fire give a warmth to the room.
Small lights add to the homey feel.
Creating an atmosphere of light becomes a fun task.
Candles add to the ambiance.
Warm cider and hot chocolate dominate the table.
Inviting folks to the farmhouse table helps with the dreary.
It is in the dark.
In the quiet that we are most vulnerable.
The place where we can be real.
Time in confession.
Peace and restoration.
These moments are gifts.
In the dark.
I am seeking more.
Psalm 19:14
May these words of my mouth
and this meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight,
LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.
Learning to find holiness in the mundane.
In the hard.
In the dark.
My hope continues to lie in the One who tarried to the Cross.
Who bore all so I might live.
I am shaking off the dark.
Stepping into the glow.
Will you?
How do you do the dark?
What do you do on those days when all feels lost?
When the steps are hard.
We are a week in to Lent.
Into the time of pulling away.
A time of intentional focus.
A time when the One who came to seek and save sought solace
He dug deep to endure the coming wrath.
He purposefully took time to be in Communion with the Father.
I have noticed each evening the sun set is a little later.
The sun rise. . .a little earlier.
Small insignificant amounts, until you see them as a whole.
I can not see the whole picture of my life.
I have a very narrow perspective.
With a perspective shift, I see differently.
The quilts over the windows give a cozy feel.
Shadows cast from the glowing fire give a warmth to the room.
Small lights add to the homey feel.
Creating an atmosphere of light becomes a fun task.
Candles add to the ambiance.
Warm cider and hot chocolate dominate the table.
Inviting folks to the farmhouse table helps with the dreary.
It is in the dark.
In the quiet that we are most vulnerable.
The place where we can be real.
Time in confession.
Peace and restoration.
These moments are gifts.
In the dark.
I am seeking more.
Psalm 19:14
May these words of my mouth
and this meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight,
LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.
Learning to find holiness in the mundane.
In the hard.
In the dark.
My hope continues to lie in the One who tarried to the Cross.
Who bore all so I might live.
I am shaking off the dark.
Stepping into the glow.
Will you?
