Will the dawn bring good news?
Will the birds with their morning song
bring an encouraging report to my ears?
Will the frost be found to have
serenely blanketed yesterday’s pain
so that, in fact, it is erased and undone?
Alas, no. See there:
the wounds of our souls
are still exposed beneath the frost;
the damage is too tender to touch,
too raw to even bandage.
Still: the dawn is coming
and the birds are caroling
and the frost has already drawn
its exquisite crystals
so we must ask,
can they possibly
be witnessing today?”
And the dawn warms: “Faithfulness!”
And the birds praise: “Renewal!”
And the frost gleams: “Peace!”
But our hearts sigh, “We are not ready,
for we are overflowing with sadness and longing.”
Be merciful to our hearts, O Steadfast Love, for
we struggle to receive the dawn’s comfort and
our throats are too parched to sing.
We add our whispered prayers
to the frost’s profession
of peace prevailing,
of reconciliation coming,
of holy beauty abounding over all.
We lend our broken hearts to your work, O God,
for we are painfully aware that we cannot accomplish it.