Long forgotten are days of rejoicing. Like David of old, I sit in ashes and ponder, searching my soul for sins unconfessed, and finding too many, lie back weary of repentance. It has been too long. The sleepless nights tumble into each other like drunken men, leaving me dizzy with exhaustion. My eyes are a desert, having wept too many tears. There is no comfort, no succor for this heart now shredded by grief. Who can I trust? Who is there to help me through this morass, this concretized ocean of sorrow?
Music helps, but for a while. I reach out to help in my profession, as I am counseled to do by friends- well meaning. If I would only do ‘this’ or ‘that’, or add just one more act of giving to the list of ways that I am already doing so. It is like the blind leading the blind. There is always another charity, always a hand reaching out to take. Like Bilbo, I feel like “butter scraped over too much bread”.
But within this darkness, there is a tiny crack of light. I do have a friend, a confidante who has ‘been there’, and who listens with gentle and gracious patience to both my silence and my words. And I do have another Friend, who, though unseen, makes His presence tangible through the arms, faces, and kindly acts of those who dare to love without expectation. I look to the seen and the Unseen for hope.