I’m tired. This is heavy. And I am tired. I find myself talking to the sun and the moon to remind myself that you’ve given such bright reminders that you’re in front of me and you’re in my rearview mirror as you have them replace one another. I get weary only in the times when I feel that I cannot hear you or feel you, so I pull from the places where you had pen touch paper to write truths.
From these truths, I pull that you calmed the raging waters and questioned why no one was trusting that you could do such a thing. From these truths, I pull that you see everything that is going on – the mess that is happening within – and you still restore this grave-like life back to how you see fit. And because it’s through your vision, through the works of your mind and hands, things so inconceivable, I am finding that there is no longer time to throw my “Why’s” at you or scream how every single bit of this season is unmerited.
Because you are still good. You are still good as the waves keep getting bigger and the grave keeps getting deeper. I have to believe that you calm storms. I have to believe that you reach such depths. May what you have allowed be done on your time, under your watch … and may I feel the weariness lift with each look at your sun and your moon.