Dearly Beloved, Grace and Peace to you. Earth has had a fever of cold, twisting in her sheets, her clammy hands in the dark restless, white blankets disordered, hard and damp. The burial cloths unwind so slowly, threading through the grey woods. The icy path, all pocked and punched with the past's old footprints, is no help now. You stagger, or go slow. You don't see any crocuses.
In dim light, ice and mud, beneath an asphalt sky, the yard depressed, half-stripped, the houses dripping without hope, before all storms are past, or all is softened yet, the equinox slips in and whispers something.
Long before the actual greening, or even sense at all, but in the pit of loss, the dark of turmoil, or its lingering regret, before the tears have dried— the earth has turned already. Trees in the woods are dripping quietly. It will take some time, but in your devastation is a voice, still trembling from its own weeping, calling, ”Lazarus, come out.”
___________________________ For those of you in the Southern Hemisphere:
Today is the autumnal equinox, like every other day, unpredicting. Without regret for what is not yet lost, take in this day and let tomorrow be.
Deep Blessings, Pastor Steve
__________________ Steve Garnaas-Holmes Unfolding Light www.unfoldinglight.net
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