I stand eyes to sky. The silence beckons my spirit. Silence---not a lack of noise, but a space for awe. The orbed moon is behind lacy clouds. I would linger if it was not 22 degrees outside. Someday, I will linger in amazement at the splendor, and mystery.
So much of my days in the last 6 months since Michael's accident have been devoted to wearing my cloak of suppression to hide the razor sharp pain.
I should call it my personal ice-age, or hibernation might be appropriate. Or, maybe I am an out of tune instrument unable to make music that is pleasing to the ear. Metaphors abound, but none explain.
I am reading a useful book called One Thoudand Gifts. The author's words are worth pondering:"suffering nourishes grace, and pain and joy are arteries of the same heart---and mourning and dancing are but movements in His unfinished symphony of beauty".