When I Awake

Tonight, all is silent except for the swelling swishes of trees in a quickly approaching storm. Thunder begins to catch up with the lightning. Soon, there will be rain in the darkness.





My house is cloaked with night. I read, in the gold chair, under the light of one bulb, Darkness and light are alike to You.


I can see nothing outside the windows, in the dark, until the lightning blinks on again. Yet, He sees everything outside, everything inside. He sees down to the places in my heart that not even I can see.


I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. With all that’s in my heart, with all He sees–is this  still true? How I am, who I am, is wonderful? Sacred? To be respected and counted worthy of His attention?




Something crashes outside as it is flung by the wind. But I am safe, safe in the house, unharned. My heart is safe too, no matter what has crashed into it and bent it out of shape. No matter what toxins have flowed in or out of it.  His eyes are fires that consume shame, like bolts of lightning. His hand is grace that covers and cleanses, like summer rain.


Wonderful are Your works, and my soul knows it very well.


Suddenly rain pings the house like pebbles. Thunder grumbles louder. Lightning becomes vivid and the lights in the house dim for a second. The storm might last all night.


But when I awake, I am still with You. 


 Psalm 139



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