Dreary Days

I love dreary, overcast days. It must be the romantic side of me, the part that knows that others consider it an “ugly” day, which compels me to find the beauty in it.

Diffused behind the grey clouds, the sun is there. The shine is brilliant, so evident, not hiding as it does at night, but ever-present, offering an often unappreciated yet beautiful glow.

Hazy days remind me of the days when I am certain God is there, but I can’t hear His voice, can’t feel His warmth, and can’t see His hand at work.

Nevertheless, He is there behind the haze that tries so desperately to conceal His light and separate me from Him; yet, He is present—subtle—but present, waiting to be noticed.

Absent are the brilliant displays of the bright, sunny days that radiate, shout out His blessings unconcealed; devoid are the storms of the darkest days that propel me to seek His refuge and commune with Him.

Ah, hazy days are special.

They compel me to seek beyond the grey, the complacency of life-as-usual, when communing with Him has become habit instead of heartfelt, when the meditation on my lips has become nothing more than empty lip service. These hazy days are overcast with my own agenda and my vain attempts at life; still He illuminates through the mundane and gently reminds me that beauty is here, yes, even in the mundane. It is here where He waits, ever patiently for me, illuminating through the haze. With a beautiful glow, He whispers softly, romancing me, humming a song from His heart that beckons me to step away from the busyness of my life and my plans and commune with Him, truly commune with Him.

Drop the disguise; remove the mask; forget about my to-do list; look beyond the grey haze, and embrace the One who illuminates the dreariest of days.

Oh, how I love dreary, overcast days.