Begin, Again

April 17, 2017 jeanne w.

In the womb of the morning. With the pangs of the darkness, echoing only darkness... I often wonder. Will morning ever begin, again?

Darkness has surged and prevailed and lingered for a long long night. Covering us with heavy wet cloud blankets. Entangling us in nets. Wrapping us in robes. Of suffering. Through faith by grace alone.

Darkness holds on tight, with bony hands and I wrestle against it, it wrestles against me. My flesh falling, away from my frame, turns black to match darkness and blue like my deep blue depths. Only I know mine. My joints. Disconnected. From grenades of chaos that sever the boundary between darkness and the dawn. And we are shut up. In the womb of the morning.

When my dad was sick, he would wrap himself in a soft blue flannel robe. Soft. Blue. Flannel. Robe. Soft against his flesh burned raw from his battle. Blue to match his deep blue depths. Only he knew his. Flannel. Warm against his soul. Robe. Of Suffering. Through Faith. By Grace. Alone.

My dad would walk through the house in his soft blue flannel robe, saying, with a grin that bore his Pain, with smiling eyes that bared his Beauty, "I'm just Job in his robe..."

Colon Cancer overwhelmed his body but could not overwhelm his spirit. Of humor. Nor His Spirit. Of Faith. The two would often come together to make us, those around his black darkness, up above his deep blue depths, laugh. My dad's intention. To lighten our load. Even though his was so heavy.

"Job in his robe." Dad, in his blue flannel robe. My Dad. In the Womb of the Morning. Of Death. Just Job in his robe. Both my Dad and Job. Kept. Acknowledging their suffering. Baring Pain. And acknowledging the source of their Faith. Baring Beauty.

Colon Cancer. Surged. Prevailed. Lingered. Eventually. Overwhelmed. The body and the mind and then the heart. But not the Spirit. Delivered. To a New Day. Morning beginning again.

I have a robe. A soft blue flannel robe. Just like my dad wore when he would walk through the house saying, "Just Job in his robe." I took a picture of it the other day. And the sun shone on the robe through a window of creation casting a shadow of darkness from the light. Of Faith. A picture I wanted to share. Because this is a picture Baring Pain. A picture Baring Beauty. Reminding me of my dad and Job and how it all begins in darkness. Morning begins in the womb. Of darkness. The greater, the darker, the darkness, I am learning, the greater. The morning. Will begin. Again.

It is hard, and painful, when the lights go out and it's dark and we lose all power, to fix... things. Exhausting, when darkness keeps surging. Overwhelming when it keeps prevailing. All-consuming when it keeps on... lingering. It's really, really hard. Painful. To begin. Again. And keep. Beginning. Again. Over and over and over when we wake up and find darkness our closest friend.

It's morning here. And it's still dark. Here. In the womb of the morning, where we have been shut up. For a long long night.

i am. Still. Here. Wrapped in soft, blue flannel. A robe. Of suffering. Baring Pain. A robe. Of Faith. Baring Beauty. Wondering. What great things might be shut up, here, with us.

Believing. I AM. Trusting. It's a good morning. To begin, again. And see...