And Hope Does Not Disappoint

From where I sit in this borrowed space, sunlight invading through the twin windows opposite my chair, there is peace. There is order. And there is silence.

Everywhere are reminders of him. His helmet on the wall. His favorite hat atop the high bookshelf. The gifted windchimes spinning outside which bear his name. His two flags, presented to me in his honor and memory, stand at attention near his photos.

The tabletop Christmas tree I put up yesterday makes me aware of the season we’ve just entered. Last year he put up the giant one in our little lost cabin. This year I walk out my courage once more, even though decorating reminds me there will be no more magical Christmases spent with him.

The silence is deafening, my also-widowed friend wrote.

It is.

But it is also stalwart. There is strength here. A slowly revealing hope. A tranquility which plays out in the cool blues and grays of this borrowed space echoes the promise of my daughter’s favorite plaque, hung on the wall inside her home nextdoor.

All shall be well ~ All shall be well ~ And all manner of things shall be well

My tears cry out in daily desperation, praying this comfort is true.

How can one live in both hope and unbearable sorrow at the same time? How can I put one foot before the other one more time after time after time? How do I keep taking in one breath after the next after the next?

Daily, in all the pain in which I live, with all the grief I am learning to carry, I know this:

God is for me. He carries me. He loves me deeply.

In this dark, yet joy-filled, season where morning sunlight filters hope, it is all I know.

Many thanks to Richard Walker for permission to use the lovely photo seen above. The original can be viewed by following this link: 

Windermere Rays | Rays of sunlight fall on Windermere, Lake … | Flickr