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.
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.
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.