It’s cold outside. Down in the 20s every morning for more than a week. No snow, however, but fog and a waning moon peering down. As I threw the ball around for Dakota this morning, I looked out over the city. I couldn’t see a thing. It was completely socked in. No Christmas lights on Railroad Avenue. No streetlight at 7th. No greenly glowing town Christmas tree down by the post office. Nothing.

I tossed the ball up and down the yard. The office light, powerful beacon outside Jonathon’s man cave, penetrated only a small halo of air. The street light high above our mail box shone but dimly. The bulbs wound around the bannisters of the front steps seemed powered by 5-watt bulbs. Nothing cut through the thick clouds.

And that’s the season I feel like I’m in. I’m getting up, going to work and church, doing what needs to be done. But I can see no farther. Christmas looms in 2 weeks. We’re almost ready for it. Two Christmas programs this week, Ruby’s band concert and the drama plus music one at church. Zac comes home for 3 weeks starting this Friday. After that, I don’t know. A new year lurks right around the corner. What’s next?

I drive to work and the fog hugs the highway in a clammy embrace. It follows the cars, obscuring distance and brake lights. I can’t see the tidal flats or seagulls soaring overhead. Then, all of a sudden, at the top of the next rise, the fog dissipates as if by magic. The sky, scrubbed free of clouds, prepares for the sun’s grand entrance.

I know if I hold on long enough, the Son will re-enter the scene. He will scatter the gloom and restore clarity.. The Holy Spirit will melt the speculation and wondering. I must keep on the path.

For if we are faithful to the end, trusting God just as firmly as when we first believed, we will share in all that belongs to Christ. – Hebrews 3:14