When Morning Comes Again

Night before morning.

I remember the evenings before nights, before morning. In the evening, my mama seemed pensive and lonely. No doubt she was. I wonder if it was because the burdens of the day grew heavier as the day wore on. Perhaps it was because she was tired of work and labor or, maybe, she knew she was facing another lonely night.

After 1963, the dark window at the top of the stair steps brought fear. Outside the window was a slanted roof, two stories high, but on the other side of that window might be the man who killed President JFK or another man just as evil. Was he hiding on that roof? Never mind that he’d have to bring a ladder to climb to the second story. It was all too possible that he (or someone like him) was there. Years later, I learned I was not the only sister who zig-zagged her way down the stairs at night, hoping to avoid a bullet from this unseen man.

I remember nighttime when a dream awakened me, when noises in a strange house brought fear. In the daytime, the oil furnace restarting sounded normal, but at night, it sounded like someone walking up the basement stairs. I’d lie awake, praying, wondering who was there and what I should do.

Then morning came

When morning came, and the sky was bright and clear, Mama’s face had energy. There was no ladder outside the two-story roof of the house, and I could imagine the laughter of my family if I told them of my fears. In the morning, after the night of fear and terror, those fears and sounds dissipated in activities of the day. Fear was gone and hope stood in its place. The sinister sounds of the night before seemed ridiculous, and I promised myself I wouldn’t be afraid again. (But I was).

When all is well

Time and again, hope flickers and dims. Darkness threatens to snuff out light. The night is dark and long, and cold; then comes the morning. This is why I wait for morning. In the morning, there is Hope and there is Joy. Resurrection and renewal happens, over and over again. His mercies do not fail. They truly are new, every morning. He is faithful. Just you wait. The darkness will fade and a new light, a new hope will shine. That is why, when night is here, I know that morning will, someday, somehow, come. Go through the night. Morning, I promise you, will come.

Photo credit: Aaron (Butch) Slabach