Whispered Promises

It is dark outside
and the rain continues,
damp and grey,
without even the grace
of turning to snow.

This is the season you are in,
not quite winter,
not quite warm,
a Christmas that is not quite,
missing lights,
missing those you loved most,

a joy wanting to leap free,
but not quite,
not yet.

It will.
You know this.
Already you feel the stirring of spring.
Faint, Hidden.
A whispered promise from a patient God.

But for now, it rains.

About this poem.

I love Christmas. I love the lights. The music. I love Advent and the preparation of our hearts for the promises. The sense of joy.

But this has been a hard year for me, and for several others who are dear to me. There has been loss, struggle, and our journey is in a place of not quite. We are not wallowing in the pain, but the pain is there, dimming our sight.

Yet this is when we need the joy the most. And we reach for it. Even if we aren’t quite there yet. Be patient with us. We’ll get there.

Tom