This morning I arose in time to watch the sunlight break over the eastern horizon. (A rare event for me.) I stood shivering, camera ready, in the crisp morning air, wanting to capture it at just the right moment. I'm not a great photographer, but this seemed like a good image to end my blogging sabbatical. (Chances are no one bothers to check my blog anymore... that's probably for the best.)
I can't explain it, but I felt a baffling sense of loss as the light of dawn spread across the once inky landscape - not my normal response to such scenes. I'm still unsettled by my morning gloominess. I've been on the edge of weeping all day long - just a moment or two away from completely losing it. I managed to keep it together until I got home from work this evening, but it was a stretch. I guess it's just one of those days.
It's been a difficult and wonderful 6 months. There has been heartache and loss (the kind that comes in waves), stress and anxiety, feeling incompetent at nearly every turn, loneliness. But the same months held moments of deep joy (that even outlast the waves of loss), a feeling of completion and accomplishment, new jobs, a sense of calling, meeting new friends, deepening old friendships, and a growing, hopeful realization that God isn't finished with me yet. Needless to say, there's quite a bit to to catch up on.
This is a time of ambiguity and uncertainty in my life, much like the sunrise: whether it begins with bright, golden hues or just the gradual lightening of gray skies, it's hard to tell what the day will hold. The Lord was right: each day has enough trouble of its own. But there's hope and excitement for a fresh start too. Fortunately, we always begin again.