Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Morning after Mourning

The title of this post has been dancing around in my head for a few weeks.  It started as the sprightly dance of the polka, proceeded to the classic movement of the waltz and now has become a somber funereal march from which I am trying to extricate myself.

When "Morning after Mourning" came to me, I thought how wonderful it would be if God was giving me a glimpse of such a moment in my near future. 
A morning when I awoke to find that my mourning had passed, washing me over with the light of a new day. 
I thought about how encouraging I could be to others who have endured or are still enduring their own grief. 
I thought what a blessed instrument of reassurance it would be.
I couldn't wait for the moment and the message so I could write this post, mailing off a resolution to my sorrow.

My mind has wandered here and there, far and wide waiting for that morning.
It's been peeking around the corner -  
looking around the bend -  
searching under bushes and beds frames and into rabbit holes.
Yet with all of the searching - soul and otherwise - it has not dawned.

You see, I've just realized, the morning after mourning is not going to come.

It is too difficult to quantify a morning...
or an hour...
or a moment when the grief ceases.
Like every other thing in life, it is a process.
I wish I had that summation, that resolution.
But the simple truth is that there are good days and bad.
Days when I feel Daddy near and that is enough.
Other days, when I cannot handle the thought of my life without my dad's physical presence beside me in some way.
Then when I consider that I likely have another 44 years without him...
his humor...
his brilliant baby blues...
his lined, productive, hard-working hands to hold...
his voice saying, "Tell me what's troubling you, child,"
it's almost too much to bear.

Yet I do think that there is intention in the message of this phrase.
And I think the message is that morning itself will always come.
Morning, a new time to think and dream and praise and glorify.
Morning, a new opportunity for growth and abundance and hope and breath.
Morning, a new stage of prayer and loving and peace and Him.

Even in my times of radical grief, He is there in the morning.
In the sunlight or the fog, the heat or the chill.
In the air and the Spirit, the light and the grace.
He is there.

He is there in the mourning.
He is there in the morning.
Morning after morning after morning after morning.....

{I so appreciate your continued prayers
during this time of enduring grief.
I would like to pray for you as well.
Please leave your intentions in the comments below.
I will gladly add them to my prayer box.}

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