The Trickle that Forms the Canyon

It's moments like these that my heart so desperately clings to. When memories flow through my tired head, not bad ones, or bitter times, but the little things that, like a trickle of water carves a canyon, have formed in me the fingerprints of my soul. I lay in my bed, my fuzzy blanket draped over my arms, the only one awake this wee hour, and I think of all the times I spent up till one, two, three, even five in the morning alone in that quiet house; whether my pen was stratching away at the paper, or my head rested against the window pane, staring at the majestic oak that graced the front lawn, or the moon and the bright morning star. Sometimes I would be curled up in front of the fireplace, or sprawled out on the floor, my curls wild, my eyes tired, never dreaming that those moments would someday end. But it seems like everything you love in life you lose, or the beauty is somehow stripped away. I heard once that what Satan cannot prevent, he perverts, and how true. All the beautiful things of the world, when viewed by darkened eyes, are only darkened things. For, "if the light in you is darkness, how deep is that darkness..." I've felt the oppressiveness of that kind of darkness; everything suddenly becomes a trap, a snare, a lie, a perversion, but how far that darkness is from the truth. "God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all." In Him, and Him alone, purity and goodness and love reign fully; in us, darkness hides in deepest corners, waiting to creep out and engulf our lives and steal our souls. It's at those times when I feel a bitter, empty anger grip my heart and mind; it brews a storm within me and makes my days a challenge and a torture, rather than a blessing. I need to learn to cling to my Savior more, for how can I call Him my Savior if I keep returning to the very things He's saved me from? That's just it--I can't. But He is my Savior, my Lord and King--Jesus Christ--the One who died for me. So tonight I'll rest my head on my pillow, and think of all the blessings lavished upon me. Morning by morning, grace anew; evening by evening, redemption coming through. I have a new home--not the same, but a roof and a bed. I have a family that still is together--different, yes, than three years ago, but better despite the pain. I have a ministry I love, that God has never ceased to use. I have food in my belly and water to quench a parched throat. I have freedom to speak my heart, sing to my King, disagree with the government, make a difference. I am blessed. Even though in my mind I have been reduced, I am by far richer than most of the world. My eyes see, my ears listen, my mouth tastes, my knees bend; I can read and I can write--I am a privileged human being. With all the pain of past days, I am still a blessed person. May I never forget, even in the darkest days to come. I'll remember the oak in the front lawn, and the apple in the back. I'll remember the graves of family pets, and recall the scent of the roses in the garden. I'll be thankful for the time I had, and not bitter about the time I don't.