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I have days of light... days when the sun shines with splendor, highlighting the majesty of the mountain range. A warm gusty wind barrels across the open prairie, sweeping locks of auburn hair across my face and touching my heart with the knowledge that I am completely, painfully alive.  These are the days when I am awed at how quickly love can blossom in one's life, and I hold this fragile, young, new love with hopeful tenderness. I stand captivated by this beautiful existence that I have been ****** into, and embrace the explorative adventure that lies in front of me. These are the days that tell me to keep on living.
I have days of darkness... days when any sliver of hope is so far beyond my reach, I cannot muster the energy to strive for it. Days that leave me yearning for all things familiar; the comfort of being surrounded by those who know every broken piece of me, sometimes better than I know myself. I am swallowed by a darkness so thick, every star is blotted out before me. And I stumble: longing to trace my fingers across the grooves of an oak tree I have carved into my mind since childhood. These are the days that leave me weeping in the shadows, pounding bloodied fists on a door that will no longer open to me.
These roiling emotions as different as night and day themselves. There are days that I am more alive than I have ever been; and days when death itself would be less painful. But through every single one, I cling to my only constant: and that is the goodness of my God.
Yes, he is faithful and just. I know his mercy endures across the ages, his steadfast love never fails. I am promised that his plans for me are to prosper, and not to harm. These are wonderful truths; but this is not what sustains me. The truth is,
He is worthy.
He is worthy of so much more than I could ever offer; and so the least I can do is give him all of me. Today may be a day of darkness, but I worship in brokenhearted joy, knowing that the light of the world dwells within me. I am learning to let that daylight out.
In the farthest corner of the western sky, golden rays glide down the horizon line and slip into the ground: hiding their splendor till the morrow shall bring their rebirth. The depths of the night seep into the heavens, dousing the expanse with stardust and blinking lights. Shadows lurk under every tree and creep their way into the atmosphere. But to the east, a new night is just beginning. At the base of the mountain range, a subtle candle glow starts to rise from behind the centinal stones and intensifies their monumental silhouettes. As Earth continues her drowsy journey around her axis, the Moon sidles out of his hiding spot and peeks above the horizon.
Somehow, he is different tonight. Rather than launching himself high into the expanse and bathing the terrain with silvery shafts; he stays along the boundary between ground and sky. His sunken frame is wrinkled and pock marked; with the shades of musty old parchment emanating from his surface. He is an ancient manuscript: the literature of a thousand poets and songwrites. Time itself is scribed into his pages and endless mysteries are buried within those yellowed folds. His weary bones tire of holding up the vast sky night after night, giving away his light and energy to all around him. So, just for tonight, he abandons his post, creeping down towards Earth to catch a glimpse of her ever-young radiant beauty and diversity. As he comes in toward her, growing larger to her sight, her textured surface looks close enough to touch. His raspy breath on her delicate skin. His heart aches to drink of her glistening waters and be renewed.
But as he leans in for a drink of her life: he is struck with a startling awareness. Corruption and deceit have manifested themselves within her miles. Pain and blood and cries ring out through the night; swallowing up what peace should have been there with the desperation of their pleas. Children and forests of creatures sink to their graves unseen as the mighty ones among them submit to the will of their greed. The Earth, with her intoxicating scent of ten thousand flowers and fruits and churning waterfalls of hair cascading down her mountainous shoulders, turns her savannah golden eyes toward her dear old friend. His affectionate gaze is filled with heartbreak as she pulls from her own dwindling stores of energy and ever so briefly gives him a frosty caress to lighten his load. The crisp air fills his lungs and the tingle of snowflakes lingers on his cheek as he brushes a tear from her sun kissed nose and climbs back to his place in the sky, once again shining silver and strong.
And if you look up into the sky tonight, you will see, there he remains; constantly making his journey round and round his love, sheltering her from the outside. Shedding his shafts of teary moonlight at the suffering she so patiently endures.

— The End —