1304. Come away, O human child: To the waters and the wild with a fairy, hand in hand, for the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand. ~William Butler Yeats

At the age of five, of six, at the age of seven, I
used to begin weeping sometimes without warning,
simply for the sake of weeping, my eyes open wide
to the sun, to the flowers…I wanted to feel an
immense grief inside me, and it came.
~Violette Leduc

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Misty-eyed moments have been
coming in tear dropping waves for
days which seem to be pushed out
and about not unlike the gusty north
winds of this lackluster autumn.

Know not fully I the source nor
the origin of such sorrowfulness,
but the day’s cup has been so wholly
filled with their salty leavings that
it appears now to be weeping too.

And although I’ve tried to lift off
the heaviness I feel in my heart and
to look for reasons to break into a
smile of sincere gratitude for the day,
its weightiness yet holds me down.

Perhaps it’s just the price one has
to pay for loving deeply and for
living life in a world that’s fallen and
so bereft of peace that one has a dire
need to find rainbows in her soul.
~Natalie Scarberry

The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.
~John Vance Cheney

Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them. ~Psalm 126:6  ✝

**Image found on Pinterest

754. It took a lone assent of self to get back up… ~Julie Cook (https://cookiecrumbstoliveby.wordpress.com/about/)

A voice beneath the surface
Speaks
Echoes into my
Inner being
Inner heart
Inner mind
Blessing me
With
Strength to arise
~Yoshiko
(https://zyoshiko.wordpress.com/author/yoshikoz/)

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We are more than what people see on the surface. We are narratives, stories that make us who and what we are. And the stories are ripe with sorrows and joys, defeats and victories, love and loss, suffering and wellness–all those things each of us must face in life. And like my friend, Virginia, says “when you shed light on your past and how it affected you, it illustrates the transition that occurred to mold you into the person you are today.” So here I go with the next installment in my little story.

After being stuck in limbo the first semester of my sophomore year, I eventually found the strength to rise, albeit on wobbly and unsure legs at times, and I began the “lone assent of self” back into the mainstream of life. It was the summer of ‘62 and I had decided to continue working half a day for the Dean of Women as well as get a couple of courses out of the way in summer school. Since I only worked in the afternoons, I had some time on my hands after my morning classes were over, and what better place to go than the student center where food and friends awaited a hungry “climber.” The living was easy that summer and life was good. I had met some new friends who were teaching me to play bridge. And soon Keith, Danny, and I were playing bridge well enough to play in competition, and that summer would become one of the most memorable ones of my life. To be continued… (2 weeks, 5 days and counting…)

…weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes in the morning. ~Psalm 30:5 ✝

**Image of old French, 1902 calendar page found on Pinterest

571. There are dark shadows on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast. ~Charles Dickens

We look at life from the back side of the tapestry.
And most of the time, what we see are
loose threads, tangled knots and the like.
But occasionally, God’s light shines through, and
we get a glimpse of the larger design with God
weaving together the darks and lights of existence.
~John Piper

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No moon, no stars, no sun, no blue of sky… No bees, no butterflies, no adoring, garden paramours… Only a foggy Sabbath steeped in silent, grey stillness as bit by bit by bit color empties out of the landscape leaving in its wake pallid, watercolored remains to blanket the lawn… Autumn has but a fortnight left before she relinquishes her throne to winter’s chilling reign. So I wonder if she’s weeping, if the falling mists are her crestfallen tears. It would certainly seem so as gloomy and grey as her recent days have been. Her palette, once streaked with chestnut and chocolate, maroon and mahogany, mauve and mulberry, orange and ochre, red and russet, is soon to be washed of all but grey and beige and evergreen. Thankfully, however, there are the brightly colored lights of Christmas to brighten the dying year’s ever-increasing, muted days.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. ~James 1:17  ✝