My finger traced the theoretical line arcing across the map, the wonder of it dawning across my imagination. On the other side of that line, a boy like me was pulling the covers a little tighter to keep out the cold. But I was sitting in 3rd period geography while a slightly greying Miss Kindler spoke enthusiastically about earth rotation and seasonal adjustments.
In my first decade of life, I sat in the light thinking about those in the dark. But in my fourth, I sat in the dark thinking of those in the light.
“Out of the depths I call to you, LORD! Lord, listen to my voice; let your ears be attentive to my cry for help.” (Psalm 130:1–2, CSB)
How long had I been kneeling here, feeling my way in the inky blackness of a rebellious soul? I’d seen the light before, felt its warmth on my face, but now it seemed so far away. Groping aimlessly, I tried to stand, but I was shackled to the floor by the weight of my shame.
“Yet I call this to mind, and therefore I have hope: Because of the LORD’s faithful love we do not perish, for his mercies never end. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness! I say, “The LORD is my portion, therefore I will put my hope in him.”” (Lamentations 3:21–24, CSB)
New every morning? Hope comes with the dawn?
Then I will sit in the darkness, and though I cannot see it yet, I fix my eyes on the horizon I know is just beyond my reach. I stretch forward and trace my finger along the line that will soon appear.
I will watch for the morning. His Word is sure. Hope rises. Jesus wins.
