...just in time

As I journeyed onward in the noonday's heat,
A great rock blocked the path before my feet;
but from its shade there gushed a cooling spring,
And it quenched our thirst and made our hearts to sing.
When the night seems darkest and our hope is gone,
In the East we see the signs of coming dawn.
---Willys Peck Kent

Have you come to that boulder in the path? That place where all your forward progress suddenly stopped, and what had seemed clear suddenly had you back-tracking and second-guessing? Have you thought it a dead end, sat down in resignation with your back against the rock, cried out with the exhaustion and frustration of being thoroughly beaten?

That's the dark. The parched dry of world-crashing-in, not-good-enough-ness. That is the night of not-hope. And it could be the end of the story. But.

But. There is water, a trickle, a runnel, bubbling from a hidden spring. The boulder in the path has been guarding it, protecting its outlet all along. And there, just at the darkest edge of your vision, dawn is drawing back the curtain between earth and sky. Almost like it was planned, the light comes.

The Water. The Light.

Just in time.

Peace...and quiet

The Lord bless you and keep you,
the Lord's face shine upon you,
Lord be gracious to you;
the Lord's countenance shine upon you,
and give you peace. And quiet.
---Isaiah 6:24-26, and Abby

If you have been a parent of several children who are all very young at once, you will know the feeling --- that sensation of never quite catching up, or settling down, or, you know, breathing. There is always something you didn't do, or something huge you've potentially dropped off the radar entirely. The physical exhaustion is hard to describe, and the mental contest of comparing the job you are doing to that of your closest friends and family also raising families is cruel and useless.
Into that kind of life, we could all use a little peace. At the end of each long day, full of joy, and wonder, and tears, and frustration, and fun, I would stand in the room where my three very young children lay, readying for what I fervently prayed would be a good night's sleep. I laid my hand on each head in turn, a blonde, a dark brunette, and a wispy dishwater, and prayed this blessing for these children who were surely the best part of me. And , showing that no careless comment goes unheard during the rest of the day, my observant middle child decided that the good Lord would, in all wisdom, give peace and quiet. Perfect. My first thought would have bee written in sarcasm font --- no scripture goes untwisted. But then. But then...I thought, perfect (remove sarcasm font). I had blessed my children, and Abby had returned the blessing to me. She had added the word she believed would make that blessing perfect in my life, in that moment. Perfect. and Blessed.
You know, sometimes peace comes quiet. Sometimes it come raucous. Sometimes peace comes suddenly, more often after long toil. Sometimes peace comes completely, sometimes ragtag and partial.
In this holy season, peace comes both beginning and achieved --- in a Babe.


...so here we stand, whoever we are,
bathed in the light of a star...