Silver Pool of Light

2AM. Maybe I should be sad that my Valentine’s Day was uneventfully lonely, but for once I’m content. For once the thought doesn't cross my mind.
There is an ethereal glow shining into my bedroom from the old-fashioned picture window. It’s a pure gift- it’s snow.
I’m shivering, but I’m not cold. My stomach is growling, but I’m not hungry. I’m smiling but I’m not particularly happy. What does it all mean?
There is so much to do, so much I haven’t done. But what does it matter. I really don’t care anymore.
But I’m glad the snow is falling. Even if it doesn't last.

Endurance

For what credit is it if, when you sin and are beaten for it, you endure? But if when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth. When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly. He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed. For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls. (1 Peter 2:20-25 ESV)

Pretend

Tonight is one of those nights when I can’t fall asleep, and I lay here awake instead. Thoughts are running though my head and memories and dreams. Dreams and wishes that have all faded away and been tossed away like broken mirrors- reflecting bits and pieces of who I used to be. It’s so dark. All I hear is the steady ticking of the clock on the farmhouse kitchen wall and the familiar creaking of the worn hardwood floor as I pace up and down and wander throughout the rooms of this tiny house. The faded wallpaper strewn with roses and the yellow tin pitcher filled with yesterday’s wildflowers. The picture-frame windows ajar to let the summer breezes enter and the melodic chirping of a lonely cricket. The millions of stars over my head and not another being for miles.
With my flannel robe and bare feet I’ll wander to the front porch swing and listen to the familiar creaking, my long brown curls draped over my shoulder and the moon glowing bright.
Sometimes I wish I could just stop thinking. I beat myself up with no valid reason- my self-esteem is crushed and who has done the deed? I have. My dreams are spoilt by my own carelessness and pride and my heart is wooed without a lover- it was just a dream.
Is this whole life just a dream?
Finally my eyes grow sleepy.