The evenings are the worst. It seems the culmination of the day presses in on my heart and mind, and I can’t seem to shake that weight.
What kind of life is this? That my heart would be so torn and battered. That my mind would play such tricks on me. That my very soul would quake with fear and grief.
I wonder at this life. At what kind of life this could be. What it will be. Could it be that this life as it is, is all it ever will be? Is this all there is? Is there still beauty and hope and joy in the midst of it all?
The evenings are the worst. During the day I find ways to stay active. To shelter my heart and mind with busyness. But at night… when the day’s weight is heaviest… I wonder how I’ll ever find a way to keep moving forward.
And it is in this weight of anguish that I pray. I pray words that aren’t my own, and yet have become mine. I pray with the anguish of the night. I pray:
“To you at this the close of day
Creator of all things we pray
That you as you are ever kind
May guard and keep both heart and mind
Dispel the terror of the night,
And sleepless worry put to flight
That we may find our rest in You
And rise refreshed to serve anew.”
The evenings are the worst. And yet the evenings are when I get to pray for tomorrow. I pray, and I do move forward. I find beauty in these words, and I remind myself that beauty is possible. I find hope in these words, and I remind myself that hope is possible. And I find joy in these words, and somehow, some way, I remind myself that, yes, even joy is possible.
The evenings are the worst. The evenings are the best. The evenings are the depths. The evenings are the heights. The evenings are the falling in anguish. The evenings are the falling in love.
To you, Lord, I pray. In you I lay myself down to rest. Falling just to rise.