Night has long since fallen. My roommate asleep for hours now. But I am yet awake.
In the wee hours of the morning, just before the birth of a new day, sitting watch while the night takes the dying breaths of my today, I listen, captivated by song.
The music stirs my soul, and moves me to reach for God.
In the dark, I read the musings of a love story being written on a woman's heart. Small pieces of her journey with her husband. The jewels of wisdom she shares from her romance with God. Two lovers. One story.
And I weep. To know that love is true. To feel connected to another's story. To feel my soul stir with longing.
And I listen to the music of a piano. And think this must be just a small glimpse of the beauty of heaven. And I feel connected to my God through the beauty of music.
And I close my eyes, and worship my God, who gives us words and music, things to connect us, and pull us back to Him. Things that are meaningless without those to share them with.
At 2:30 in the morning, is the day dying, or just begun? The only answer I receive is a heartbeat. It has neither died, nor been born. It is. He is. and I am.
And I too feel the need to share words. Put shapes to abstract thoughts and feelings. It is now when I feel most alive. Here in the grey between today, tomorrow and yesterday. Somehow I find a certain freedom in the place where the lines of definition have been removed.
Some beauty is best appreciated in the stillness of night.