Darkness

  Each night I curl up with the man who is my home.  Head on his shoulder, hair splayed over pillows, away from limbs that might pull it accidentally.  Sadness is our covering, a deep heaviness that weighs us down, as if to smother.  Sleep comes hard as inner darkness does not lend itself easily to restful surrender.  Rarely do tears wet the pillows under our cheeks.  More often dry heaving sobs wrack my body while he holds me tight, desperately wanting to take the pain away.  A torrent of angry, hurt, pain filled words spills out leaving us gasping for breath.  When will this go away?

 Every night as I curl up with the man who is my home, he offers up prayers to our Great God.  He prays for this little family, broken and worn down by the cares of this world.  He thanks God for whatever he can think of to be thankful for.  He begs God for healing.  Sometimes short, sometimes desperate, sometimes long and passionate, there is always prayer.  This deep darkness is not my friend.  Though it has been a constant companion for over a year, it is still unwelcome.  But this uninvited guest has blessed us through the deepening of our marriage.  We are learning to fight together, to pull for the same side, to wrestle hard for hope, for healing, not for our individual ideas.  We are seeing how valuable prayer is and learning how to pray for each other.  Darkness, you are not my friend.  But I am thankful for what I have learned during your sojourn here.

 I'm joining with Emily once again.