The fog is lifting
shifting from my heart and away from my soul
drifting away, slowly but most definitely
the fog is lifting.
I was beginning to believe
the sum of me was consisting
of shadows and darkness,
of gloom and carcass,
disintegrating into who I once was
forever lost in the composites
of grief and process.
But the fog is lifting.
For quite some time
I attempted sifting through the broken
bits
but it felt like twisting and digging
and all of the things painful,
so I let my heart be and let it sink
into Him,
clinging without realizing
for me, He was clinging.
The fog is lifting
but Hope is frightening.
Hope and fear cannot coexist
and Hope is much more pleasant than
fear;
fear insists only the feelings
achy and stabbing, wringing
itself around our hearts
persisting,
fear.
Hope can be intimidating
implicating risk and vulnerability;
but is it not worth the risk?
After interrogating Hope,
debating if Hope was debilitating
or complicating the heart further,
I am slowly but most definitely
settling on a decision that Hope is
thoroughly liberating.
The fog is lifting.
My heart seems to be illuminating
but only because of Him and
the Hope that He brings,
the Hope that He offers
which I can see in the distance
where the fog is lifting
clearing and creating a path
perpetuating His presence
bringing me to my knees,
encouraging saturation of Grace.
Vulnerable,
hesitating,
step by step in His direction
like a baby learning to walk
wobbly and fearful, but trusting it will be
worth the permeating risk.
One step forward, two steps back
but
the fog is lifting
and I pray,
together,
we find ourselves drifting closer to Him.
He is good, His grace penetrating.