The gray clouds above whispered of the coming rain. But what would be an omen of gloom, sang, instead, a different tune – as if the forest around me knew a secret I’d yet to discover. The air, thick with the anticipation of the looming storm, held a mist that glistened off of the leaves revealing a beauty I’d never seen before – the beauty of the longing for the storm.

The forest knew the storm was coming, but it wasn’t afraid. It waited eagerly for the nourishment but a few thunder rolls away. For though the rain might beat down, bruising leaves and breaking twigs, the water would be life-giving, bringing refreshment to the withering wilderness.

It was then that I heard Him say, “Daughter, it’s okay to not be okay.” So I stopped…

breathed in…

the air clinging to the inside my nostrils and

breathed out…

tasting, for once, the sweetness of sorrow –

sorrow for all the what-ifs, the almosts and the maybes,

sorrow for the husband I’ve yet to meet and the babies,

sorrow for the yesterdays, todays and tomorrows –


“I thought loving You meant being happy all the time.”

“No, Daughter. Don’t you know that I was a man of sorrows? Now won’t you let me sit with you in yours?”

My servant grew up in the Lord’s presence like a tender green shoot, like a root in dry ground.
There was nothing beautiful or majestic about his appearance, nothing to attract us to him.
He was despised and rejected— a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.
We turned our backs on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care.

Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down.
And we thought his troubles were a punishment from God, a punishment for his own sins!
But he was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins.
He was beaten so we could be whole.
    He was whipped so we could be healed.
All of us, like sheep, have strayed away.
    We have left God’s paths to follow our own.
Yet the Lord laid on him the sins of us all.

Isaiah 53: 2-6 NLT

And to think, I could have missed the message in the mist were it not for You dwelling in my midst.

Thank you, Father.

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