The wooded limbs are bare and the wind is still. The sky grows dark as the sun leaves the sky. All is quiet. Has life left the world we live in? Is there nothing to come after the suns disappears?
All sounds are hushed as we wait. Our spirits have sunken very low, but still we cling to a hope that refuses to die. Even as the sun sinks beneath the horizon, the hope of renewal hangs in the sky and in our hearts. It is what we cling to.
And so we wait. We are alert for signs and we try to be careful not to read too much into them with the odd bird’s call or distant dog’s bark that tears asunder the silence. We watch the sky with anticipation and with fear that we may be wrong.
To fight this fear, we have inside us, a wellspring of hopeful feelings that feed us and keep us from hanging our heads. It is like a river of faith that cannot be dammed up, nor diverted from flowing strong and true. When we listen to our inner voices they tell us to wait, to be strong and to have faith. So we must hush, and listen.
And so like the wild mustard that can no longer flower or add flavor to life, we stand strong and on the lookout for miracles. We dig deep, for it may be a long wait, and there might be storms. But we believe the miracles will come because there is holiness wherever we look. We know miracles exist, we truly do.
The wild things stand with us for they do not let fear weaken them or poison their thoughts. They are more patient that we and more accepting of truth.
So together, with brave hearts, we wait.
Please come back tomorrow for a new “Weed Image of the Day” and let me know which ones you like.
We and our weeds are so much more than what we first appear to be.
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