Sometimes we discover in speaking, other times the sweetness is learned in the discovering as we pace in silence. There is brightness and there is gloom and vast alternating regions in between.

Sometimes my prayers are more like bloody groans, unintelligible mutterings born of pain and loss and grief, and I look in the mirror and it is as if two faces are looking at me. The scales hang unequally. Sometimes the light is a great fire, other times the shadows lurk in the corner bending their darkness to my face.

It is an unmoved shift of the eye to see the sweet instead of the sour, the beauty in the ashes. In the silence of the room, the sweet melody knocks back the old wars and thrusts the undreamed dreams forward.

It is a night’s journey, this metamorphosis, like burning coals, but with a pass of his hand he pardons my trespass. There is no need to be afraid, he assures me. He comforts me. He takes me to heart.

I can rest in the hollow of his bare arms…my suffering. There I can hang my hopes in the fingers of He who turns the winds. There he will draw me gently and say come. Come.

It is no easy task to say, it is well, in the midst of weeping. Or…is it?

Perhaps it is there that we stand in the dark and immovable and face the bright morning. Perhaps it is there that we will look and see with noble courage. Beholden to a love so pure I cannot tell. For there are no words to paint the picture.

When words won’t come may you indeed experience this incomparable love. May you turn your head to higher ground. May you go forth unbridled. May the words “no fear” strike the air around you.

May you know when words won’t come, that none are needed.