Wisps of Hope

Walking on cold, windy, misty Good Friday morning, the last thing I expected was to see something beautiful. But as I rounded a corner a line of brilliant orange just above the horizon caught my eye. The consuming mist had not quite conquered the sky and the glorious sun had found a chink in its armor. It was a real-life version of a black-and-white picture where an artist has added color to only one object.

The sun rises even on Good Friday.

I watched - delighted, knowing from the weather forecast that this might be the last sun I see before Easter. Then I noticed that a few wisps of joyful mist had caught the glow of the sunrise and were dancing along in front of the dark curtain of threatening clouds which were attempting to push out the sun.

With tears in my eyes, I thought of Gerald’s brother and family, refusing to shut out hope - dancing bravely along, catching the glow of the Son though the diagnosis of their son rises ominously up and threatens to envelop them.

The clouds resolutely continued their conquest until the color disappeared from the tableau. Even the most hopeful of souls knew this was a dark day.

But I cannot forget the sun.

And I cannot forget the hopeful wisps of mist reflecting the sun’s glow.

And so I wait.

Until Sunday.