An odd pang and yet praise comes at the end of a year - recollections of sorrow mixed with celebration. As I write, it is 4º outside but the chickadees are chirping wildly in the sunlit bush. I suppose that image summarizes many of our days in this cold world, as we wake and wander into its brightness. But with every light there exists a shadow, even when the light is within. We live out our days as sinners because we have beating hearts whose blood flows from an ancient source of a poisoned well. Yet, we are also singers whose breath comes from The Breathing God. And singing warms the soul and brings a resurrection. The end is simply another way to spell beginning.
in the snowfall
By Dan Haase