Good Morning

Dear Eugene,

It's six in the morning now.

I'm facing a forest, in the cold but not too cold, in almost complete darkness, scribbling on a page that hopefully I could make out the content when someone eventually shines a light on it, whoever that's "out there," taking care of this light-giving business.

When you're standing at the edge between light and darkness, you wonder.  You imagine. You seek to see, to know, must to not fall into despair.

The forest is dark.  Shapeless.

Who's to know if light will ever come again?  No one can be sure.  No one promised us.

Yet I'm standing here like a covenant was made, not least to me personally, and I'm banking on its fulfillment, for a miracle to come.

It doesn't escape me that I can write in this state of blindness only because I've learned how to during the many previous gifted episodes of seeing.  Had I been in complete darkness all along I wouldn't be able to discern there's a countering alternative.

A light did shine, but will it again?

So I'm here praying for a repeated blessing, one more gift of being shone upon, another fulfillment of pledge I somehow think was made to me, reckoning on the history of many brilliant morning of yesterdays.  Sure as the sun will rise.

Faith alone, at the mercy of grace alone.

"What has really happened during the last seven days and nights? Seven times we have been dissolved into darkness as we shall be dissolved into dust; our very selves, so far as we know, have been wiped out of the world of living things; and seven times we have been raised alive like Lazarus, and found all our limbs and senses unaltered, with the coming of the day." G.K. Chesterton 

Good morning, Alex

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