The only saving grace of my early hour drive to work this morning after a week of lovely break was the fiery coral above the mountain announcing the sun’s journey and the crescent moon glowing in the dark above.
This is a day of discouragement, for many reasons from work to personal, and the ever-vigilant depression stirs in wait to rise and encloud me any moment. These are the days I lose sight of joy, though it too stirs below the surface. These are the days I hate even more than usual the clichés and perky songs and proverbs, no matter how actually profound they may be. And those that are mere glibness, that ignore the brokenness of this world . . . those I hope not to encounter in any public forum.
The worst is “count your blessings.” I know full well I have innumerable blessings, and even on a day like this I am grateful for them all. I also know that any and all of them can be taken from me in a split second. On days like this, counting the blessings I have only makes me aware of their fragility, and more acutely aware of what brokenness has stolen. But in any case, and on any day, while gratefulness is always in order, it is not the blessings I can count that count.
There is no counting the love and grace and mercy of my God. There is no counting the mystery of the Incarnation, nor the Cross, nor the Resurrection. There is no counting the knowledge that the God of the universe deigns to know us at all, much less love us so much that He gave His only Son to die for us, that the Son willed to be separated from the Father by our sin taken on Him. There is no counting the gift of the Holy Spirit to indwell us, giving us light and life. There is no counting the fact that He uses us – me! – to accomplish His will, even on days like this.
Because it’s all about Him, not about me. The announcement of the rising sun reminds me of the fierce beauty of the Father’s love; the moon reminds me I am His reflected light. And even just a crescent, even barely visible – as she was when I arrived at the college under the sun-lightened sky – it is His work, not mine; His light, not mine; His joy, not my happiness, that counts. Perhaps this day my light will reflect His less clearly and brilliantly. Still it is His light only, never mine; I have none. May it shine as He gives grace.