Tonight the sky is like a pink sea, a dusky blue Wrapped in a single, endless cloud the velvet color of a blushing peach. As is usual when inspiration strikes me, I am alone, on my apartment balcony, cradling coffee to soothe the dull Ache in my temples, my bible on my knees. The silence, outdoors, is less deafening, more embracing.
Because the Comfort I long for cannot be manmade. The depth of warmth and peace my soul aches for, scratches at my insides for, is too vast to come from anyone but an infinite God.
It doesn't go away, this ache. I am more aware of it than I have ever been. I cannot escape it. Even wrapped in worship music and scripture, the ache finds me whenever I am alone; it comes crawling after me, pushing the ball of salt water, that I refuse to acknowledge, up and out, through my eyes and over my cheeks.
But here, suddenly, is the incalculable truth. I must face the ache. Hold out my arms and let it wrap me up. Somehow, my soul sees that this ache will give me wings. The ache pushes up the red staircase of my throat, out into beating song, or through my fingers in red, bleeding words. It hurts, but it hurts less than when it is an empty, unacknowledged weight I carry around in the pit of my stomach.
This is grief. This is growing up.
So please, World, don't give up. Don't let fear guide you, fear of pain or sorrow, of loss or betrayal or loneliness.