The Morning

Who is really ever okay with being broken and aren't we all just broken messes anyway? What does a broken mess do without eternal security, and in the wee hours sometimes the thought does cross the back of my heart, what if the brokenness runs too deep? 

In the morning fears don't seem so big. 

In the morning sun spills through trees and washes over mountain and person alike, both capable of singing His praise. 

In the morning it is evident that this hope that is an anchor for our soul is, in fact, anchoring. Holding fast in the person of Christ while doubt and anxiety buffet the broken vessel above. 

In the morning, this broken vessel remembers she is being made new, and though the war will still be waged the outcome has been determined. 

Every morning I cling to the cross. His mercies are new, refreshed for what today holds and I kneel and receive as last night's fears are washed away.