Inky blackness was the only thing visible when I looked out my window early this morning. Two hours later, the darkness began a silent transformation. Slowly, slowly the black morphed to blue, and as it did, the outline of the fir trees outside became visible.
Within minutes, I could see the hill facing the condo where we’re staying. Dark disappeared as dawn continued its approach.
Finally day appeared, and its light dispersed the shadows.
The scenario depicts my thoughts this week. Several days ago I received a phone call about a friend who has struggled with depression and chronic pain for years.
Now my friend is in crisis. An inky blackness of the soul has overtaken her. Out of necessity, professionals have come alongside. Help has arrived and is being accepted. The darkness has begun a silent transformation. For the first time in decades, I sense the black morphing into blue.
Hope dawns. Burdens lift. Life beckons.
“The thought of my suffering and homelessness is bitter beyond words,” wrote the writer of Lamentations. “I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the LORD never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness, his mercies begin afresh each morning. I say to myself, ‘The LORD is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him!’” (Lamentations 3:19-24 NLT).
I cling to God’s promises. I walk and I pray. And I see light at the end of the long, dark tunnel.