In an unusual move, I shut the dark drapes in my bedroom. I rarely do that. I find that there is something wonderfully intoxicating about the morning light, no matter how late one has gone to bed. An uneventful, maybe I dreamed but I do not recall, sleep gave way to something quite different as the new day dawned.
In looking back twenty-four hours later it is hard to describe what unfolded yesterday. The drapes were a metaphorical move that proved far more insightful than I imagined. I have no idea what hit me or why. The previous day had been spent in a hygienic location, Singapore. My day had been filled with healthy service, helping assemble a machine and mounting shelves. I had a reasonable amount of water. Nothing, even in the mirror, seemed out of place.
My morning was extreme. Every part of my body rebelled. Muscles ached. My head throbbed. Everything inside rushed to be outside in anyway it could. I found myself in David’s shoes. “Doubled up with pain, I call to God all the day long. No answer. Nothing. I keep at it all night, tossing and turning.” (Psalm 22.2)
I think I got out of bed for twice for short periods during the day. In the evening I was able to muster a few hours more. By 9.30 I had crashed out again, exhausted, drained, and mildly dehydrated. The darkness that came with the dawn remained overwhelming yet I could sense that there was more in my life.
In the storm, I knew I could celebrate the way God continues to work in the lives of those I love. The evidence of Divinity’s touch is clear.
As I fought to deal with the immediate, I knew God would always be present. There is no evidence God has left.
As the aches and pain overwhelmed, forcing me back to bed and a restless sleep, I found myself holding onto hope. Hope is a choice.
It is currently still dark outside. I can feel the dawn coming. Light is on the way.
