Father, we come.
anxious for Your healing.
hopeful, yet wondering if maybe we could be wrong.
what we long for and envision You doing just might not happen.
we look, and what we see niggles a thought that maybe the grass won't ever turn green.
maybe what was once fresh-fallen-white and now is crusty-brown will just turn muddy-muck.
we realize the possibility that our story could get even yuckier yet.
You could have a journey that takes us deeper into the knee-deep valley of cold and darkness.
we walk around scouring for signs that our hope isn't lost forever; that it's just dormant.
You are our Foundation that guides us as we walk, looking for signs that there's growth.
we plead for signs to show us we're healing; that there will be redemption in all this waiting.
our eyes are fixed forward with faith that our hope-filled heart isn't just dry wasteland.
still us to stay here, Father.
shift our eyes to where the waiting is and where the signs of winter still loom.
may this be our offering to You: to accept this place, as it is.