It took the entire day. By nightfall the clouds had covered everything, no stars can be seen, only a slight breeze can be felt. There were gusts earlier, only for sporadic moments.
To the south there is one pine left, a bare pole to a hundred feet. The ravens are nearing the end of their rental agreement. I have not seen as much stirring recently, making me wonder if at least one of the babies has flown away. I shall miss that sight.
The wonderful thing about the Christian life is that there is always tomorrow, always that next day. It is the fullest of hopes, because no matter the circumstances, of our doing or of external forces arrayed against us, always to the end we look to tomorrow with hope. Even death itself has lost its sting, unable to vanquish this mighty hope within. If we really believe.
That’s the Christian life full of hope in the midst of uncertainty, along with the other essential paradoxs of this lived life.
I’m comforted by this as I struggle to restore my rhythm, again finding points of great inspiration, and moments of prosaic wallowing.
The enforced rhythm of a regular community would be welcomed. Only I know that to forge this path on my own will build spiritual strength like nothing else. So, either I lift up or I am crushed. Time will tell I suppose.
My heavy eyes are reminding me it is time for bed, and I remind them that my level of activity today barely merits a nap.
The impasse remains in part, my own lack of motivation on this day the major barrier.
Except for a brief moment this morning, when the heavens opened up and my mind was filled. My mind is a racing engine, needing fine tuning, racing away when right, stuttering and faltering when off. It turns over, but is not quite ready. Closer though.
At the end of the day, I know that this is my state. It was a great day in part, a wasted day in others, but I am closer. Now, there is only to make my pace more steady, and my heart more firm on the prize. That will be a day.