I wait for the Lord

more than the watchmen for the morning --

more than the watchmen for the morning.

Psalm 130:6

In the depths of a moonless night, a watchman stands tense, alert to every sound.  A rustle of brush, the crack of a twig could be a frightened mouse scurrying for cover; or an advancing army creeping toward the city.  

He longs for light, for vision, for the flood of information revealed by the dawn.  A battle to plan or an embarrassed laugh of relief, anything is better than the coiled spring of wondering, of waiting for what can't be seen.

Waiting for the Lord. Waiting for the light.  Living in the longing for the dawning glow that illuminates the truth of all that commotion stumbling through the night.