The day Beauty came and went.
People constantly ask how is it that I am not angry with the Lord. My honest answer is that I have been angry, and I have been diappointed. What I have not been, and what I refuse to be, is disbelieving.
However easy it may be to allow myself to wail over my loss, it is a far more satisfying thing to believe that all of this is a brief season. The Lord I have placed my trust in tells me that I will see my child again, and while he stands beside me, he weeps. He doesn't weep at the barren ground, nor does he mourn the browning branches. He cries because I cant see what He can. And in the fluttering of the breeze, with my heart pressed to his, I can hear him whisper. "Spring will come, my love."
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