June’s blushing warmth became December’s lamp-post pools. Summer branches kindled winter fires and she traded her flowered dress for charcoal tweed.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair,” and it was by no means time to celebrate.
The stars in her eyes turned to ice on her lashes. Tinsel reflection went grave, tears fell hot and stinging, winter winds wrestled bleak and blistering. A heavy heart ached for home.
But in the depths of her search for solace, something changed. The remedy was neither in forgetting, nor sleeping, nor seething, nor denying, nor un-feeling, nor un-forgiving, nor blaming, nor in anything but giving. The cure for pain? Hardly. The cure for apathy and eyes unseeing? The only.
Giving. Giving time, drops of life from a bottle best shared. Giving worship, heart yearning to praise His name forever. Giving thanks, the lifeblood of miracles. Giving out of abundance and less-than-abundance to meet a greater need. Giving energy, working muscles for the kingdom of Heaven. Giving words when necessary, being the momentary ink in another’s story. Giving hope, awaiting the day He makes all things new. Giving love, the great setting-free.
Even as the weeks tumbled by unclear, she suddenly had the greatest expectations, ignited by a glimpse of His heart.
Joy fell white as snow and keeps falling. Joy, as eyes close eager to live another day tomorrow. Joy, as she waits. Joy, as she laughs, sways, pulled close under starry lights. Joy, as she sees His mercy even in lingering griefs. Joy, for the bittersweet is not without hope. Joy, even when tears run for things forgotten and remembered. Joy as eyes open to abundant beauty once again.
Joy, for He is good and what He does is good.
Joy in the light of grace unwavering.