I drafted a poem

tonight that goes along with Kayla's thoughts below.

I "blogged" it on my own blog, but saw that it fit Kayla's words.

Maybe your words. Maybe our words.

We're all into advent, I can tell.

And we're all feeling longings, I can tell.

We've been plunged into a time of aching,

making the hoping part harder.

But also making the hoping part much more REAL.

Without grief or discontentedness, hope cannot be present.

So here we go. We're being given an opportunity to hope. Huh boy.

Here is my poem. And the more I write things like this and think things like this, the easier it is to not dwell so solidly inside my self-pity. Hope is a discipline. Hm.

Today, my heart aches

amid my thoughts of thanks. Thirst

for rest and relationship

drains me dry --

all thoughts are needle pricks

that pick my threads of gratitude

until I begin to unravel.

Hope, you are the theme.

I bow my head

to your high ways. You

say yes when I feel maybe.

You say wait when I feel weep.

You say rest when I feel struggle.

You see the hands that hold you

when I am blind.

I ache. But.

But know that aches speak

of remedies.

That longings speak

of fulfillment. That yesterday's joy

affirms the joy to come.

Unravelled. Aching: I hope.