Remember the statement, “It’s always darkest before the dawn”? I remember as a kid, getting up two hours before sunrise to prove or disprove that theory, and was amazed to find that it was actually true. Not only was the night the blackest before the sun rose, but it was also the coldest two hours of the morning. I watched as the stars faded from view and the moon dipped into the distance. The night creatures even took a brief respite in their song to greet the new day, as if taking a deep breath to start their chorus all over. It was amazing watching the first hue of orange, pink and yellow touch the edge of the horizon. Though I sat in stillness, the air seemed to buzz to life with the touch of the first golden rays. I hadn’t realized that I held my breath, until I exhaled in relief and awe, allowing the tension of expectation to release its strangled hold on my shoulders. In that brief, silent moment, I held an enormous barrel of hope for the day. The possibilities were endless. Then of course, I went about my duties as usual, doing what was planned and expected, forgetting about the hope I had imagined at the breaking of dawn.
What does that have to do with my writing career; my passion? In those moments when it appears nothing is happening, nothing is moving, and darkness covers all my hopes and dreams, I remember that behind the darkest hour sits the beauty of dawn. There’s a new day, a new sunrise, a new hope waiting for me, if I just hold on a bit longer. I can’t give up when I’m so close, neither can you.
Till next time,