My mind swirls in a jumble of emotions. Pieces of my past, flung into my face. A sinister depression stares into the scars on my soul. Grief suffocates my will to continue living. A void inside. Yet from somewhere, a whimper, “the ste.. st… steadfast…” Stuttering. Barely audible. “love … of” The hurricane takes the mumbles and shreds them into the abyss. “the Lord” .. Pitiful. Shallow. ..”never ceases” Desperate. “his mercies” .. … “never” … “come” … Violently assaulted by the deafening wind, awkwardly tumbling over one another … “to ” .. … A drowning man’s last gasp of oxygen … “an end” … .. .. “they are new every morning” … .. “great is your faithfulness” .. … “great is your faithfulness” The words repeat, agonisingly forced. “great is your faithfulness” .. “great is your faithfulness” I cling to the liturgy. My lifeline. … “great is your faithfulness” And like a trickle, building to a stream, the phrases come increasingly, “the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,” faster and faster, “his mercies never come to an end,” louder and louder, “they are new every morning,” with escalating resolve, “great is your faithfulness,” until they are a shout, filling the atmosphere, reverberating around me. And as the loudness of the truth echoes into the depth of my being, I realise that the hurricane has calmed into a breeze. Almost a kind breeze. And the rays of dawn are massaging my back.
I call this to mind, and so I have hope: the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning. Great is your faithfulness.