Jesus

Not Finished

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The sun is setting much later these days. We find ourselves enjoying dinner in the glow of the sunset instead of the silvery moonlight. They say we’ve made it through the darkest weeks of the year, and it’s noticeable. 

Darkness comes after dinner now, and these winter evenings, although they are gradually growing shorter, bring such delight as we try to spot the parade of planets, recognizable constellations and the familiar phases of the moon.

It never gets old to me.

January has been mostly warm with days of temperatures far above normal, and sunrises and sunsets painting the skies with the most incredible rose-gold and lavender hues. The hollyhocks got confused and mistook the mild conditions for the month of March, their leaves poking up out of the ground in the warm winds and sunshine. But of course, it’s January. We know winter is not finished with us yet. The whiplash weather patterns used to bother me, but after so many years I’ve begun to look forward to the relief of a spring-like day in the dead of winter.

Last night, the snow and cold returned, as we knew it would. A heavy sigh escaped my lips. I really despise winter driving conditions, and the cold makes everything just that much more difficult. I ran through all our weekend plans in my mind, making a checklist of all the ways the ice and snow would complicate things.

This morning, shrieks of delight took me by surprise as they filled the house. “SNOW! GUYS! IT SNOWED! FINALLY!”

I didn’t realize just how much the kids were missing the classic winter weather that bring us out into white, open spaces to sled and skate, and make hot chocolate taste simply divine.

Perspective is everything, isn’t it?

I saw bothersome inconvenience I’d been dreading; they saw fantastic opportunity they’d been awaiting.

No matter what weighs on our hearts today, we have a choice: we can be ruled by the fear of the unknown, embittered by the loss of things that once were, filled with anger at the things we cannot change.

Or we can choose the life-giving perspective of worship and praise of the One who holds the future, the One from whom all blessings flow, the One who can be trusted to bring beauty from ashes. 

Lord Jesus, please change my perspective!

Psalm 121:1-2 (NIV)

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

Image: mine

The Last of the Year

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The waiting and longing of Advent has given way to Christmas. With the lighting of every new candle, the anticipation grew. Excitement filled our hearts for the night when we would finally celebrate the coming of a Saviour who changed everything, and will one day change everything again! We have not rushed through this season as if it’s a series of events to be endured, rather we’ve embraced it as a loud, lingering celebration of the only One who can truly heal our hearts!

We would be fools to pretend that things are not complicated, even and especially during the holidays. Sorrow and grief. Conflict and frustration. Strained and broken relationships, realities that we almost cannot comprehend, the sinister coldness of apathy gripping our hearts. There are those who are not with us this year, and we feel the gap acutely.

Jesus, be near!

In our home, the tree lights still glow as carols softly fill the living room. The halls are still decked as we gather around the table filled with once-a-year treats. Snow is finally falling and the north wind is rushing down from its Arctic home, bringing the conditions we’ve been waiting for to enjoy sledding, skating and warming fires.

Tonight, in these last moments of the year, we’ll reflect on God’s goodness and grace in these past twelve months, marking those moments as evidence that He is faithful and holding them as beacons to remind us that He is able to carry us through the year to come. May this be a time of growth into a deeper understanding of the Lord, and the transformation power that comes from yielding to His work in our lives.

A Covenant Prayer in the Wesleyan Tradition

Father in heaven,

I am no longer my own, but thine.

Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt. 

Put me to doing, put me to suffering.

Let me be employed by thee or laid aside for thee, 

exalted for thee or brought low for thee.

Let me be full, let me be empty.

Let me have all things, let me have nothing.

I freely and heartily yield all things

to thy pleasure and disposal.

And now, O glorious and blessed God,

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,

thou art mine, and I am thine. So be it.

And the covenant which I have made on earth,

let it be ratified in heaven. Amen.

-John Wesley

Happy New Year, friends. May the Lord’s presence surround you.

Image: mine

Not Quite Ready

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Scrolling through the November camera roll, I see that this is the month where we switched from fall to winter. Early photos feature long shadows on the golden grass, dark silhouettes of leafless trees against the gradient colors of dusk, foggy moonlit nights, and neighbourhood bunnies turning white.

And then, “snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow…”

Photos of mostly white, with every bough, branch and twig outfitted in Narnia-like fashion. It’s own kind of magical beauty, taken in during long sessions of shovelling and scraping, or through the window from the warmth of the indoors.

We enjoyed a long, warm autumn and the refreshing blanket of winter has brought the Christmas season into focus. It’s much easier to get in the mood when we’re surrounded by a white wonderland! Glimmers of lights and ribbons are slowly beginning to appear in our home, but we have yet to officially deck the halls. Tomorrow is the first Sunday of Advent, and tonight we’ll spend time preparing and bringing the season alive in our space. Favourite ornaments will be carefully selected and placed on the tree, the little village will fill the top of the piano, and stockings will go up in their usual place.

In my heart, I don’t quite feel ready. But as I noted on Easter this year, you don’t have to be ready for Jesus for Jesus to be ready for you. 

This whole Advent season is a time of preparation for the joyous celebration of His first arrival to bring salvation, while looking forward to His Second Coming to make the world right again. Tomorrow we’ll focus on Hope, next week it’s Joy, followed by Peace and finally, Love. And then, Christmas Eve. The rhythms of the Advent season have offered me space and time to fully prepare, to enter into worship again and again with a sharp focus on the reason we celebrate. It’s not a mad rush to cram in all the fun in less than a month (although I do love the fun!), but a thoughtful and intentional opportunity to turn my eyes upon the only One who can bring true hope, joy, peace and love to a world in desperate need, and to discover His active presence in unlikely places that are wildly despairing, brimming with sorrow, steeped in conflict and coldly apathetic.

Lord, this is my Advent prayer:

Bring me back from the edge of the pit. Turn my mourning into dancing. Heal the wounds that cause me to lift my fist. Warm my heart again. And in this season where I long for your Second Coming, may I bring this very same hope, joy, peace and love to those I meet, including those who I assume do not need me to do so. Open my eyes to Your work in the world, and show me how to participate in it in ways that bring You glory.

Since ancient times no one has heard,

    no ear has perceived,

no eye has seen any God besides you,

    who acts on behalf of those who wait for him.

You come to the help of those who gladly do right,

    who remember your ways.

But when we continued to sin against them,

    you were angry.

    How then can we be saved?

All of us have become like one who is unclean,

    and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags;

we all shrivel up like a leaf,

    and like the wind our sins sweep us away.

No one calls on your name

    or strives to lay hold of you;

for you have hidden your face from us

    and have given us over to[b] our sins.

Yet you, Lord, are our Father.

    We are the clay, you are the potter;

    we are all the work of your hand.

Do not be angry beyond measure, Lord;

    do not remember our sins forever.

Oh, look on us, we pray,

    for we are all your people.

Isaiah 64:5-9 (NIV)

Image: Mine

Marking the Moments

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October is winding down, ushering the darkness and chill of the in-between season. Bare branches and brisk north wind are setting the stage for a snow white world, although not quite yet. The freshness of the freezing weather feels extra cold at this time of the year, not to mention the adjustment to the slower pace of getting where we need to go.

Pulling on jackets and boots. Finding hats and mittens. Scraping frost and brushing off snow. Warming up the vehicle. Navigating slick roads. It’s the great re-learning of how to manage our time. A reset, of sorts, though not unwelcome. November used to be my least favourite month for all its inky black evenings and bitter cold mornings, but in the past few years I’ve discovered the joy of early stargazing and skywatching, the delight of a flickering candle to light a long evening, and the return of some of our favourite cold weather fun.

I’ve said it many times before: there is beauty in every season. And although November tends to feel like a bump on the way to the season of Advent and Christmas celebration, I refuse to waste even these moments. 

Lord, give me the wisdom I need to live out your love this month, even when the darkness and cold threaten to cover me. Help me make the most of what’s before me, counting my blessings over and over again until they are deeply woven into the fabric of my heart.

This week we gathered around Psalm 27, with its amazing reminders of God’s presence in our family life. We have nothing to fear as we seek His face and see His goodness in the land of the living.

The Lord is my light and my salvation—
    whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life—
    of whom shall I be afraid?

When the wicked advance against me
    to devour me,
it is my enemies and my foes
    who will stumble and fall.

Though an army besiege me,
    my heart will not fear;
though war break out against me,
    even then I will be confident.

One thing I ask from the Lord,
    this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
    all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the Lord
    and to seek him in his temple.

For in the day of trouble
    he will keep me safe in his dwelling;
he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent
    and set me high upon a rock.

Then my head will be exalted
    above the enemies who surround me;
at his sacred tent I will sacrifice with shouts of joy;
    I will sing and make music to the Lord.

Hear my voice when I call, Lord;
    be merciful to me and answer me.

My heart says of you, “Seek his face!”
    Your face, Lord, I will seek.

Do not hide your face from me,
    do not turn your servant away in anger;
    you have been my helper.
Do not reject me or forsake me,
    God my Savior.

Though my father and mother forsake me,
    the Lord will receive me.

Teach me your way, Lord;
    lead me in a straight path
    because of my oppressors.

Do not turn me over to the desire of my foes,
    for false witnesses rise up against me,
    spouting malicious accusations.

I remain confident of this:
    I will see the goodness of the Lord
    in the land of the living.

Wait for the Lord;
    be strong and take heart
    and wait for the Lord.

Psalm 27 (NIV)

The northern lights made an appearance this month. Amazing! (Image: mine)

Thanksgiving

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My favourite tree is glowing gold, signalling the end to another warm season. It’s much later than usual, but I’m not complaining. Every year it puts on a short but brilliant show, like a matchstick going out in a blaze of glory. Soon after, the second act: tall weeping birch and poplars with their yellow leaves popping against the dark blue early fall sky. Then, the bright yellow and rusty orange of the lilac and Saskatoon bushes and the cotoneaster’s signature red and orange fire. Absolute fall perfection.

September is one of my favourite months of the year for its blend of warmth and chill, brilliance and coziness. The colours are usually the brightest over the next two weeks heading into October, as greens fade to yellows and oranges, ruby reds and deep purples. Amid the harvest scene, bright pink roses and happy sunflowers are having their centre stage moment.

The glory of the Lord is all around us!

It’s also one of the busiest times of the year for our family, with school and church and activities, plus the start of cold and flu season. Could be the worst time of year for a holiday that calls us to pause, gather together and be thankful for all we have been blessed with. Maybe that’s why we need it so much!

The fall decor is out at the dollar store and the pre-made grocery store cupcakes have orange and white frosting, but it’s hard to feel like Thanksgiving is anything more than a quick sale on turkey, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, with a few fake orange leaves and some fancy napkins on the side. So I fight the tide in my own way with Three Weeks of Thanks. We’ll take time over the next three weeks to intentionally celebrate the blessings we’ve been given by the One who holds it all together.

Psalm 103 anchors our season with the reminder that it’s not just the stuff we’ve been given, but the Giver Himself who is worthy of our praise!

Praise the Lord, my soul;
    all my inmost being, praise his holy name.

Praise the Lord, my soul,
    and forget not all his benefits—

who forgives all your sins
    and heals all your diseases,

who redeems your life from the pit
    and crowns you with love and compassion,

who satisfies your desires with good things
    so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

The Lord works righteousness
    and justice for all the oppressed.

He made known his ways to Moses,
    his deeds to the people of Israel:

The Lord is compassionate and gracious,
    slow to anger, abounding in love.

He will not always accuse,
    nor will he harbor his anger forever;

he does not treat us as our sins deserve
    or repay us according to our iniquities.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
    so great is his love for those who fear him;

as far as the east is from the west,
    so far has he removed our transgressions from us.

As a father has compassion on his children,
    so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him;

for he knows how we are formed,
    he remembers that we are dust.

The life of mortals is like grass,
    they flourish like a flower of the field;

the wind blows over it and it is gone,
    and its place remembers it no more.

But from everlasting to everlasting
    the Lord’s love is with those who fear him,
    and his righteousness with their children’s children—

with those who keep his covenant
    and remember to obey his precepts.

The Lord has established his throne in heaven,
    and his kingdom rules over all.

Praise the Lord, you his angels,
    you mighty ones who do his bidding,
    who obey his word.

Praise the Lord, all his heavenly hosts,
    you his servants who do his will.

Praise the Lord, all his works
    everywhere in his dominion.

Praise the Lord, my soul.

Amen! May our Thanksgiving season be filled with the knowledge of the Lord and His goodness, and may we learn to praise Him in all things, for all things, even when we don’t have the full picture. May we trust Him more and more with each passing season, and may we discover blessings in places we would never have imagined.

Image: Stocksnap

Tossing and Turning

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One night last week, I tossed and turned for hours. I’m usually down for good within moments of my head hitting the pillow, so this felt like a strange new world.

Could have been the impossible heat; could have been the looming what-ifs pressing down on me. Thoughts darted across my mind, the kind that don’t make a whole lot of sense by the light of day but seem highly plausible at 3am. 

Why am I awake? I wondered. Was I feeling okay? My arms ached immensely from the Saskatoon berry harvest the day before, but other than that I felt fine. I refused to look at the clock, a little trick I learned to help keep myself relaxed, but when the early birds began their song I became concerned. How long has it been? I wondered. My heartbeat quickened. Felt like forever.

I’ve learned over the years of raising my babies that counting the hours until rising time isn’t helpful, so I laid still in the dim, early morning light with eyes closed, hoping sleep might settle over me before I was out of time. What a lovely Sunday afternoon nap on the beach, I told myself, using my imagination to lull myself into a state of relaxation, hoping the remaining moments of sleep would materialize quickly.

I must have finally dozed off eventually, because the next thing I remember is the guitar strum of “Carolina in My Mind” by James Taylor, pulling me into a new day with all its demands. The day was marked a general sense of tiredness, but considering the night I had, it wasn’t too bad. When bedtime came back around, though, I was gripped with a sense of dread. What if I can’t sleep again? I thought. Lord, help me sleep! 

I slept soundly and awoke with a profoundly grateful heart and an effervescent outlook in the morning.

These days it’s not tiny babies keeping me awake, but tiny fears of what might be, or worse, what might not be. My daily burdens become too heavy for me, waking me up in the dead of night, growing in the silence of the house, tapping on my heart in the darkness.

I’m learning that I wasn’t meant to carry these. In fact, it’s essential to learn how to roll my burdens onto Jesus each day. So every morning I open my eyes and learn how to let go all over again. 

A couple of mornings ago, my feet hit the floor with a temptation to carry my own burdens once again. Then, a verse I memorized as a child floated into my mind, softly, gently and with great timing:

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 4:6-7 (NIV)

Thank you Lord for daily bearing my burdens. Thank you for your loving care. Thank you for your peace, guarding my heart and my mind today.

Image: Stocksnap

Sweet Summer

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This week marks the first anniversary of the sudden and unexpected loss of my father-in-law.

Twelve months of firsts. Twelve months that haven’t gone exactly as planned. Twelve months of shuffling, adjusting, making space for a new reality. Twelve months that have brought moments of pure grief, pure joy and everything in between.

And a new awareness: twelve months of the faithfulness of God in dark, unfamiliar places.

For the Lord is good
And His love endures forever
His faithfulness continues to all generations.
(Psalm 100:5)

Yes, Lord, You are faithful. 

As our family moves into the fullness of the sweet summer months, we are experiencing the goodness of the Lord in a thousand little ways, in a thousand little places. And while we intentionally remember what He has done, we recognize there are many things we don’t understand. Living in the tension between the two, our hearts are tuned to His love and care.

Even in the gift of a fresh, late June morning, thick with humidity, at least as much this arid city will allow. More than we’re used to, anyway. Lilacs and roses soak the air with heavy, sweet fragrance as bees bumble from bloom to bloom.

Summer is fleeting in this part of the world, so we tend to make the most of the warmth and sunshine while we have it. Responsibilities give way to relaxation, but we’re learning from the story of the Grasshopper and the Ants! Committing to completing the tasks on the to-do list feels like a sacrifice when we know that before long, autumn will appear for a big colorful show, ushering in our regular tasks and routines.

The weaving together of work and play is an art! Striking that beautiful balance of completing some big jobs and kicking up our heels for some fun seems to be the challenge of these short summer months. I am praying for the strength to do the hard things and the wisdom to make space for the best things. 

I watch my friends and family as their birds leave the nest, knowing that our time is coming. We’re not quite there but we know that soon we’ll be into the “everyone doing their own thing” season of life. We’re catching glimpses of it. The inevitable shift is in motion, and it’s all brand new. I feel like a first-time mom all over again – but this time instead of bouncing a sweet babe on my hip, I’m juggling social plans and big emotions. I’m relearning many things as my role moves from teacher and trainer to coach and cheerleader.

Amid the shifts in family dynamics, the gravity of the passing of time grounds me. I am fully aware that we have just a few years left before our own birds start spreading their wings and heading out.

Lord, stamp eternity into my eyes. Help me not to waste the difficult moments. Help me to trust that You know all things, and in Your time You make all things beautiful.

These past twelve months have driven me even deeper into the perfect love of God. I have discovered that no matter where the road leads, no matter what season we are in, He is good. He is a refuge in times of trouble. He cares for those who trust in Him! (Nahum 1:7). It is only by His grace that I wake each morning, ready for what the new day holds. And by His grace, I can confidently say: Praise be to the Lord, to God our Saviour, who daily bears our burdens (Psalm 68:19).

Image: mine

Ready or Not

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You don’t have to be ready for Jesus
for Jesus to be ready for you.

A whisper in my heart today, with so many things left undone before we begin our Good Friday observance and Easter Sunday celebrations. Let’s just say that the fresh cut flowers, dyed hard-boiled eggs, treats for the baskets and bread and juice for family communion are not exactly ready to roll.

I’m sure the disciples weren’t ready for the events that unfolded before them, wide-eyed and wondering how Jesus’ betrayal and death could possibly be happening. 

Completely unexpected. And then something even more unexpected. Unimaginable, really. Although they had seen Jesus raise others from the dead, they never considered that He Himself would rise again.

This story from John 20 is resonating today:

Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.

They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”

“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” 

At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.

He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”

Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

Jesus said to her, “Mary.”

She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”).

Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”

Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her.

Mary, wrapped in her grief, eyes red and puffy from crying for days, mistaking Jesus for the gardener, begging to be told where His body has been taken.

Then He says her name.

Everything changes. Mary instantly knows who He is and she wants to hold on and never let go, but Jesus has other plans. Instead of embracing her and settling into a visit like old friends, He sends her out to tell the others what is about to happen. The unexpected, once again, disrupting her grief and bringing hope to an otherwise devastating situation.

“I have seen the Lord!”

Have you seen the Lord? He knows you by name, and He is always ready for you.

“Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.”
John 1:12 (NIV)

Image: Stocksnap

Not So Fast

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Grey skies and gusty winds. 

Something chilly this way comes. 

We had a taste of spring last week. The sun soaked up all the snow on the front lawn and the grass peeked out. I spied the irises poking up from underneath last year’s batch and excited birdsong filled the neighbourhood. All has gone back to sleep now. A fresh dusting of grainy snow has come, with a wicked windchill to boot.

February is reminding us that winter isn’t quite finished. We need the moisture desperately so I have vowed not to complain about any of the snow from now until June, even though I’m sure a late May snowstorm isn’t anyone’s idea of great fun. Living in the shadow of the mountains, we can get snow in just about any month of the year.

This is the hard part, though. We’ve had our winter fun with skating, tobogganing, hot chocolate, puzzles, board games and movies and we’re ready to seed our veggies, watch for the first leaf bud and listen for our favourite winged migrants to fill the neighbourhood with song.

Not so fast, says late February. Time for the shoulder season. 

The freeze-melt-freeze-melt-freeze-melt cycle of late winter. Warm days mean cloud arches that block the sun’s rays and the sweet smell of fresh mud, and cold days mean cloudy skies that threaten more flakes and thin, nearly-invisible layers of ice in unexpected places. We know could be in a days-long, bone-chilling, teeth-chattering, finger-numbing polar vortex climbing the walls with cabin fever, so instead of complaining, we choose embrace this shoulder season and make the most of each day, whatever it brings — be it sun or cloud, mud or ice, or both in the same day.

It’s coming at the right time. The tension of the now and the not-yet and the longing for the warmth of spring reflects the nature of the Christian season leading up to Easter, as we prepare our hearts to celebrate the promise of new life in Jesus. We sense the change in the natural world, but it feels too slow for us. We want the warmth of April at the end of February, and it is never to be. We may catch a glimpse as the sun returns, but the journey has its own pace and it will not be rushed.

The journey has its own pace, and it will not be rushed.

 I need to hear that again and again heading into the month of March. We know that the snow will return many times before late spring, so we embrace the pace of the natural world, learning to wait patiently for warm breath to draw life from the soil and hope from our winter-weary hearts. In the meantime we persevere, praising the Lord for the pleasant days and praying for patience on the tough ones.

Even here in the shoulder season the echoes of the Incarnation are heard throughout our lives: Emmanuel, God with us. When we’re not quite where we want to be, or where we hope to be, we rest in the knowledge that we are not alone.

Spring always returns.

For this God is our God for ever and ever;
    he will be our guide even to the end.
(Psalm 48:14)

(Image: mine)

Joy in the Morning

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“Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.”

When I was a girl we went to a little country church where our aging pastor stood behind a huge walnut-coloured wooden pulpit and reminded us of these words from Psalm 30. He would say it once with as much passion as he could muster without raising too many eyebrows, pause, and then repeat it in quiet confidence. It may have been the only phrase that brought murmurs of “Amen” out of a tight-lipped group of unflappable farming families steeped in tradition.

Out of all the forty-five minute sermons he preached, this sentence took root my heart like no other.

Weeping may last for the night.

The holiday season has come to an end and we’ve moved into a new year with all of the old sorrows and struggles. Grief ebbs and flows, new challenges arise as old ones fade, and as we navigate the changes and make space in our life for the unexpected, we weep for the losses we’ve experienced in the past 12 months.

Joy comes in the morning.

Struggles never resolve at the same time, do they? The night may be fading away and morning joy is dawning in many places we once waged war with the darkness, and yet there are other places in the thick of inky blackness with terror on either side, awaiting first light.

And the peaceful places under a rose-gold dawn remind us that one day every bit of dark will have the full light of the sun blazing on it, bringing beauty from ashes and life from desert wastelands.

Isn’t this the good news of Jesus?

As I tread softly into this new year with all of its unknowns, these words bring me comfort:

The desert and the parched land will be glad;
    the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom;
    it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.
The glory of Lebanon will be given to it,
    the splendor of Carmel and Sharon;
they will see the glory of the Lord,
    the splendor of our God.

Strengthen the feeble hands,
    steady the knees that give way;

say to those with fearful hearts,
    “Be strong, do not fear;
your God will come,
    he will come with vengeance;
with divine retribution
    he will come to save you.”

Then will the eyes of the blind be opened
    and the ears of the deaf unstopped.

Then will the lame leap like a deer,
    and the mute tongue shout for joy.
Water will gush forth in the wilderness
    and streams in the desert.

The burning sand will become a pool,
    the thirsty ground bubbling springs.
In the haunts where jackals once lay,
    grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.

And a highway will be there;
    it will be called the Way of Holiness;
    it will be for those who walk on that Way.
The unclean will not journey on it;
    wicked fools will not go about on it.

No lion will be there,
    nor any ravenous beast;
    they will not be found there.
But only the redeemed will walk there,

    and those the Lord has rescued will return.
They will enter Zion with singing;
    everlasting joy will crown their heads.
Gladness and joy will overtake them,
    and sorrow and sighing will flee away.

(Isaiah 35 NIV)

What a promise! Strengthen my hands, steady my knees, Lord. Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.

Sunrise Beauty (image: mine)