it's friday

I never realized how much thunderstorms mean.

They roll in over the sun, dark, gentle fingers stretching out to caress the mountains. And as they loom, quiet overhead, everything grows still.

All hush before the sorrow of the storm.

What if I was wrong in considering my grief as a burden?

Yes, people grow silent before sorrow, and they treat it like a sickness. Is it because they cannot understand it? Is it because we are afraid of our grief?

(Isaiah 53:3)

 He was despised and rejected--a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care.

A man of sorrows.

My King, who knew deep grief.

The thunder shakes down into the earth, pulling her loose from her sleep. Lightening flickers and my eyes try to catch it before it fades. Sympathy is a promise.

The world is silent, and she aches as the thunder shakes again. 

All hush before the sorrow of the storm.

But then it breaks, water pouring from a wounded heart.

And then I see it.

This sorrow is my blessing. 

This sorrow pulling the water and the fire from my veins, down down down to water the earth and the people. 

This sorrow will make things grow.

♥

xoxo

p.s. sorry about my absence! things kinda caught up with me. but i'm back in the game, and i've missed you all. xx