The moon rises slowly behind the clouds. I know it’s there. I’ve seen it rise before. I’ve watched it peaking up bold and beautiful, decked out in all its fullness best.
… I’ve seen it rising shyly, a thin line of crescent gold letting the stars steal the show. I’ve seen it so many ways, and today I see it behind the clouds, hidden, silent — rising still the same.
Tonight I think of all the words that roll across my mind. And like the veil of darkness that covers the moon tonight, sometimes my words hide me. I tumble through the darkness trying to find where they’ve gone, trying to find the just right ones to use. Left, instead, with a chilling shiver.
Too often I think of words, before I feel
… but just as often, I feel life without one word that can capture the fleeting moment.
I don’t want to miss my life. I don’t want to miss the miracles that God has placed along my path everyday. But neither do I want to be lost in thinking of words, letting life turn into a stage of phrases and stanzas that fall like flat empty imposters.
Yet still, somehow, there’s more in the mystery of this push and pull…there’s the moon that hides behind the clouds. The moon I know. The moon that rises surely… whether it is seen or not. And there are the words I wrestle. Words that might peak past a cloud. Words that might breathe hope into despair.
One small word that might speak Life into death.
And so I wind up back here again… thoughts tumbling and jumbling into a mess of confusion. Because life is not all about butterflies and rainbows and happy ever afters. Life is hard. It gets messy. The moon hides sometimes. The moon hides a lot of times. Words don’t take the clouds away. Those clouds come. Storms rage. Winter’s black is dark and long when hanging on can be a very fine thread indeed.
I don’t want to pretend life is rosy when it’s not. I don’t words that gag like Kumbaya in a war torn world that needs a heckuva lot more than niceties. I want real. Oh God, I want real. I want to feel and see and experience again. Every moment. Every tear. Every bright crescent glimmer of hope that tries so hard to shine through clouds that linger.
But I also want the moon that still shines whether the storm hides it or not. Big, bold, beautiful. Just beyond the night, rising. And in those seasons where it hides its face on the other side of forever, I know it shines…. How can I not shout that Truth to a hurting world… my world… me?
There is a glimmer of hope just behind the clouds…waiting.
Beauty to feel again.
Beauty to see again.
Beauty as real as the darkness that hides it.
I must be true to the Truth that heals… and He does. He does.
So I will strive for real and I will hold on to true and I will let The Word come as He may.
A Word that may sometimes seem dressed in Kumbaya, but oh I promise you, He is a war-torn Lover returned from the dead, with Hope in his eyes and the moon in His hands.