The welcome in our fog...

Holding the unknown and unrelenting mystery that is life.

The fog settles in during an early morning sunrise. I forget which day of the week it is, as the mornings have seemed a continuous haze themselves this month. The low hanging clouds surround and block the scenery that holds so much beauty visible from our hilltop farm. The fog encircles the strong trees, which stand tall and stretch wide throughout our farm. It lingers, and the gray, eerie wisps go back and forth like a ghostly dance between a slow swirl and steady settling. My eyes strain to see the sunrise—like a young child trying to peer over a railing that is directly hindering their view. The fog holds an ominous feeling in the wee morning hours—it’s reflecting pieces of my life all too knowingly. 

The fog is too heavy. 

My eyes can’t see through the mist. 

It feels as a lush veil that holds a mysterious beauty in and of itself, while simultaneously holding frustration at the beauty it’s masking.

I know the sun is still rising, but how to behold the beauty when my eyes can’t see it?

I hold the memory of colors dancing, blending together in rays of glory—as all I stare at are bleak clouds before me. My heart holds the tension this morning—straining to see the beauty which I know is there, but presently feels distant and out of reach.

Is there still hope? 

Is all not lost? 

God, where is your light amidst the darkness?

My heart aches. 

The pain of life often feels like we’re walking around in a disorienting fog most days. Life is full of looming clouds that feel heavy and suffocating as they settle and linger longer than expected. We look around and think, This isn’t what I thought I would be looking at? How do I walk forward when the terrain that was once a normal, well-worn path, feels unfamiliar and unsteady? How do I talk to God when I feel like he’s left us to navigate the fog alone? Where is he? 

He is. 

He was. 

He always will be. 

I AM. 

The fog welcomes our belief. The fog welcomes our unbelief. We hold both as we pause—as we keep our eyes looking. We hold both as we listen to the whispers of Jesus, and ask him our own painful questions. We hold both as we notice what the fog holds and what it’s welcoming us into. 

Look into the mysterious and daunting unknown, my friend. 

The sun still rises in the fog. 

It always will.

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