When Sadness Has No Face

 "Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God." Psalm 42:11

    A pervasive sadness lingered near me all week. It had no face, no name, and arrived without invitation. One day, there it was. From whence it came, I do not know or I would have returned it. Its form was gloomy, a slump-shouldered shadow which shuffled a half-pace behind me everywhere I went - even into the Lord's house on Sunday. 

    With cloaked tears, I denied the lump in my throat and greeted others at church, not willing to express what had no reason, no rhyme. I rejoiced with another believer as she shared her testimony. With raised hands I sang "Victory in Jesus." After the service, the azure sky, which wore the sun like a dazzling diamond pendant, greeted me while mild breezes ruffled the maples' skirts. In robust health, I strode to my paid-for car and drove to my God-given home where larders were full.

    Why was my soul so downcast within me?

    The afternoon wore on; I kept myself busy until I decided a bike ride was in order. The gloomy form came along. Easily breezing down the street, I closed my eyes to further appreciate my strong limbs, thankful for my sense of balance, enjoying the way the wind blew my hair as birds exchanged pleasantries in branches above.

    I paused to see a white picket fence which proudly stood sentry behind an array of graceful blossoms of vivid orange and diaphanous blue. Tall blooms bearing feminine curves teased the diminutive pink stars with five perfect points, yet it was in good fun as they reveled in just being alive. Their upturned faces seemed to smile at the Creator in this mini-Eden along my way. 

    Beneath my sunglasses, the pent-up tears came unbidden when I realized what a holy moment this was, for I was standing in the Presence of God, gazing upon the beauty of the Lord. The words of my Beautiful Savior came to my downcast soul:

    "See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was arrayed as one of these." (Matthew 6: 28-29)

    If the fragile blooms, that were here for just a brief time, spent all their days in ceaseless praise, how much more shall I who was made in the image of God? I stooped to scoop the fallen orange petals, rubbing their velvety skin between my fingers in childlike wonder, and though the sadness still tagged along, it diminished in size and strength when I decided to praise the Lord anyhow, placing my hope in His pierced hands.