"Out of these ashes, beauty will rise" --Steven Curtis Chapman song
I don't know how.
I don't know when.
But a time is coming.
It will happen.
Sometimes there are brief glimpses into the future, brief ideas of possibility. Something good will come of all the death and destruction that has been. Something good and strong and beautiful will rise out of the pain and distrust.
A new day will dawn.
Light will shine.
Hope will rise.
Joy will flow.
Hope will shine.
And on that day, the tears will be replaced by awe and wonder.
Praise to our God shall resound.
And stories will be told--so many stories.
Stories of redemption.
Stories of rescue.
Stories of dark pits and despair exchanged for purpose and strength.
Stories of violence and abuse exchanged for treasuring and intimacy.
Stories of wimps--gutless, spineless men living only for their own pleasure--becoming men of courage, mighty in the land, respected and honoured by all.
Stories of women--once broken and abused, pandering after affection, not knowing their worth--now standing straight, walking tall, but also bending down...to lift another, encourage the disheartened, extend a hand to the weak.
These are the stories that will be told.
Once the ashes settle.
Once the time of tears comes to an end.
Once the healing bears its fruit.