I woke up dismal and dark and empty for a few days last week. And then I heard it. Can you hear the hush?
It’s the quiet anticipation of an aching planet. It’s a steady, tender conviction.
Can you hear it? It’s there despite its bleak fragility. It hums the assurance that while shadows and failure stalk our steps, one is powerful enough to uphold everything.
We will indeed have a new beginning; the deepest untold yearnings will finally be realised according to the prophet’s poem. The poem that tells of gold and vibrant colours, abundant growth and fresh joy, royal perfumes and holy worship.
Of sorrow and sighing fleeing away.
The poem that tells of a beautiful, conquering king: gracious, righteous, meek.
Order that was brought into what was formless and void, is slowly being pulled downward. But hope tarries, stepping away from the pull, and looks upward. For one has promised to redeem.
To make all things new.
So in the hush and the grey, we pause to listen and we hear that hidden melody of hope and redemption.
He gives more grace. We can only receive.