Advent is a time to face the truth about the longings of our hearts, and truth is we carry a lot of sadness in hearts. Here are a few morning words on grief.

It rolls

Like the swell of waves driven by wind

And by a deeper unseen current.

Its pushes seemingly so graceful

(As with the waltz’s rise and fall)

But crashes, breaks, explodes, dashes

against rock and shore.

And it doesn’t stop.

It blows,

Returns, gathers, grows, from behind again

And again. Not so much the circling arc

Of dance but the beat of a hammer

Who pounds, breaks, turns, twists,

With its vortex and circling

Around and back,

Overhead and down.

And then it stops.

And as with any storm

Whose eye passes over

You’re lured into thinking

That’s done with.

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