The fog is lifting shifting from my heart and away from my soul drifting away, slowly but most definitely the fog is lifting. I was beginning to believe the sum of me was consisting of shadows and darkness, of gloom and carcass, disintegrating into who I once was forever lost in the composites of grief and process. But the fog is lifting. For quite some time I attempted sifting through the broken bits but it felt like twisting and digging and all of the things painful, so I let my heart be and let it sink into Him, clinging without realizing for me, He was clinging.
The fog is lifting but Hope is frightening. Hope and fear cannot coexist and Hope is much more pleasant than fear; fear insists only the feelings achy and stabbing, wringing itself around our hearts persisting, fear. Hope can be intimidating implicating risk and vulnerability; but is it not worth the risk? After interrogating Hope, debating if Hope was debilitating or complicating the heart further, I am slowly but most definitely settling on a decision that Hope is thoroughly liberating. The fog is lifting. My heart seems to be illuminating but only because of Him and the Hope that He brings, the Hope that He offers which I can see in the distance where the fog is lifting clearing and creating a path perpetuating His presence bringing me to my knees, encouraging saturation of Grace. Vulnerable, hesitating, step by step in His direction like a baby learning to walk wobbly and fearful, but trusting it will be worth the permeating risk. One step forward, two steps back but the fog is lifting and I pray, together, we find ourselves drifting closer to Him. He is good, His grace penetrating.