A suicide sky! No trace of the sun! Nothing! Just a wet, muddy, chilled-to-the-bone, damp existence!
How does anyone rise about this soupy, insipid stuff? A cold porridge kind of day. Imagine 365 days of this. I can’t.
Hope reigns supreme on these days. Hope that the sun will peak through…maybe tomorrow. Perhaps a bird will grace us with a song. Maybe a crocus will crack through the traces of snow and declare that spring actually IS here.
Life without hope must be unbearable. But we do have hope! Our tomorrows may not always be bathed in sunlight but the Son has arisen in our hearts and He can dispel the gray.Hurray!