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,

“What delight

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.

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