Waiting

I must know, my heart demands.

How long, oh how long?

How long must I live in this fog?

How long until I see your plan?

Wait, He replies. Wait on me.

It is enough

He whispers

Into

My impatient heart

Enough that I know

I want to defend, my heart screams.

Will things ever be set right?

Will they ever see the other side?

Why don’t you show them now?

Wait, He replies. Wait on me.

I am your defender.

He whispers

Into

My misunderstood heart.

Leave it with me.

My dreams are dying, my heart cries.

Why must they die?

Will they ever be resurrected?

Were they not given me by You?

Wait, He replies. Wait on me.

I have a plan,

He whispers

Into

My longing heart.

And it is good.

Dying

Dying--a painfully apt word, right now.

Crushing sorrow, overwhelming disappointments, dreams crumbling, darkness surrounding...

Dying.

Being buried.

But not to be dead. No--we die in order to live. And to live abundantly. For if we die to ourselves--if we die to our dreams--if we bury our visions and passions-- He will raise us up again.

To life-- to life more abundantly.

For in order to bear much fruit,
the seed
must
die.

So, we die.

And with us, our dreams.

Our plans. Our ideas of how we will serve the Lord.

We die.

Not knowing, not seeing--
only trusting.

Trusting...

The Gardener knows what fruit we will one day bear. And He knows just how deep we must be buried.

He sees the wisdom in the death.

For He is the Life. He knows how abundant and glorious this new life will be.

So-- we die.

Simply trusting.

In the darkness.

In the cold aloneness.

In the crushing weight above us.

In the dirt around that misunderstands.

In the seemingly hopeless, endless nights.

In the pain of the utter loss of all we knew and were.

We wait.

Simply... trusting.

Life, Light--Him.

Will come...

in the spring time.

And in the spring, we shall
see...

glimpses

of the beauty

of

the dying.

No longer will
the darkness,
the weight,
the aloneness,
the uncertainty,
the misunderstanding
seem hard--nay,
they will seem

good.

For from that death

Life

has come.

Stars

There are nights
when
there are no
stars.

They are just--
gone.

No clouds....
no tent over our head--
just--
no stars.

Just blackness.

Empty; chillingly
blank.

Still--
we trust.

They are
there.

Hidden, but still
up above
the strange darkness...

They shine
brightly
faithfully
steadily.

Simply hidden...
though there
all along.

So we trust,
and wait.

Next night,
we look.

Hoping.

There--
stars.

Shining, just as always.

Never gone-- only hidden.