The River of Night

The river of night
Cupped by
The outstretched limbs
Of thirsty trees

World upended–
A snow-globe in a child’s hands
Harvest moon so bright
It eclipses all the other lights
Except your vaulted doorway
Lit from within
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Love is never futile

I struggle with fear. I hate the idea of my lovelies experiencing grief.

But I also struggle with the past. I spent years of my life in caring for people who now seem to have failed in ways that are too painful and awful to share.

Love can feel futile but it is not. Ever. Because God is the keeper of love, the author and finisher of faith. We love from faith and the love poured out for us, not because we have yet seen the finished story.

I must play my part in this story and trust the Writer. The One who writes with his very life, writes life for us all.