His Hand
His Hand
While I walked southward before dawn this morning under a moonlit but overcast sky I felt tiny ice crystals lightly sting my cheeks. At first I wondered if it was snow since we got a light dusting of that over night, but nothing was reflected in the sweeping beam of my flashlight. In the light of day perhaps the ice crystals would have been visible, but I think that seeing them might somehow diminish the magical effect of being touched so gently by what I perceived to be a power far greater than myself. At times like that a feeling of peace washes over me, if only for a short while. Whether you are grieving a loss, battling self-doubt, struggling with depression, trying to mend a broken heart, or something else altogether, the granting of even a moment’s respite to catch your breath and settle your nerves can be blessed relief from the torment of your thoughts. As I have struggled with depression over the past several weeks, I have been most fortunate to be granted such solace in the outdoors, usually when I least expected it. I don’t know if it is the hand of God trying to give me hope, but I like to think that it is, that I am a person worthy of His love.
RP
