Waiting

12 Nov

I’m missing my parents, my aunts, the dogs – every single thing I love! And then I’m missing things I don’t even know. Missing might be the wrong word – longing perhaps?

It’s rather unproductive.

It’s made me realise that there is often an ache, a hollow space or the memory of a hollow space within us. A waiting. Like the women who walked to the garden tomb that Sabbath. And those women didn’t know what they were waiting for. They had heard the promises. They had not seen them yet.

That is how I feel. The memory of a hollow space. Waiting to be filled by what started its creation. Waiting to be filled by the weight of glory. God.

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