Light.

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The clouds thin overhead. Even in the persistent drizzle, one finds themselves squinting against a brightness unbecoming the seemingly sunless sky. The great, life-giving star remains, of course; no manner of cloudiness could hold back its power for long. In the end, we need sun and rain in measure, don't we? Verdant life depends upon it, so the light allows the cloud's obscuring - drives it, in fact - only to reclaim its primacy in due course, redeeming the storm. Powerful brightness, catalyzing growth and life within the sodden earth.

It may be that this sabbatical season has been given for no other reason then to give space for this fight. A storm, brewed of a decade of life and ministry. Twelve years of marriage, eight years of child rearing, all within the context of thirteen years of vocational mission. Thirteen years of frustrations, scars, unaddressed miscues and persistent injury, erupting into the rare, available quiet of these weeks.

The frightening power of a sudden downpour, aggressive and blinding. Threatening to wash away all that we hold dear. Thick clouds, darkness and thunder in the heart. But yet, by grace, passing. The landscape, purged by flood. Will the in-breaking rays of sun prove these floodplains fruitful in time? To survive the cleansing, and to know the season of sunlight's redeeming power in and over the rain-soaked ground; a miracle of grace, worked by the sustaining power of the very hand of God.

Surrendered to the rains, hoping upon the victorious light.

Come, Lord Jesus.