The wind blows.
It stirs me awake.
I want to snuggle down and stay in bed.
Some days I don’t want to get up.
This is one.
I sigh under the weight of remembering.
I fling my thoughts heavenward.
I get coffee.
This life is hard.
The darkness hovers now; earlier.
My favorite time of year.
I want to see beauty yet marred by deep sadness.
Plans are hard to make.
So much clutters my mind.
Time marching forward.
Moving further and further from the accident.
Further from my son.
Yet closer to him too.
Yielding more to Christ.
The clouds roll in angry and threatening.
The mountain is concealed.
The wind; refreshing.
There’s going to be a storm.
The air heavy with anticipation.
I want to anticipate the day.
Yield to all that it will be.
I am flinging the doors to the farmhouse wide.
Letting in this breeze.
Allowing it to wash over me.
Resting in the finished work on the cross.
The work already accomplished.
Finding my way one step of grace at a time.
Even in the storm there is a promise.
