In the Still of the Night

As I begin my walk on an autumn eve, I am struck with awe of the scenery painted with a stroke of His hand. Rainbows of colors surround the waning day; golds, reds, muted greens and the most symbolic color of fall. . . Gray. With a backdrop of color, the barren trees and twisted vines that no longer thrive, give hope to new birth. The things thought dead, will later spring to life, until then they wait. In the dust of the day, between daylight and dark the path becomes a dizzy haze. Shadows fall across the path, slowing my footsteps as I hesitate between the shadows. I'm never enough. When the sun finally settles leaving the horizon with nothing but darkness, the stars take their place in the sky, and beckon the moon to take its full and rightful reign. Moon beams dance off the hardened clay, illuminating the path with a glow. It lights the way between the prairie grass, wild elm trees and thorny brush that border the way, Just-Like-Life. In the stillness of night, with the moon as my guide, the worries of the world slip away. I offer to Him, all the good and the bad, all my failure and pain, my fear and my dread and the sin that I hide deep within. He takes them all leaving me naked beneath the stars. With one hand He tosses them far from where I am, into waters the depth of the sea. With the other hand he covers my nakedness with a cloak of his own, making me a sight to see. It's not the beauty of me, or a talent he sees, for on my own I'm as insignificant as one could possibly be. Though I may be unworthy, and no good thing found in me with this cloak of his, I am a jewel in his hand . . . That's me!?! In the dark of the night, when the shadows are high, he looks down and the beauty he finds is not my righteousness, as there is none, but instead His blood that covers me. . . And I walk on.