How do we live when the darkness seems to be all there is? We look to the light, to the brightness of the sun, to that which God gives us to illuminate the darkest of times. We are made beautiful, we are made perfect, our imperfection, our suffering is taken up by one greater than us. We do not walk alone.

We do not walk alone.

So I sit here, I rub my eyes again, the clouds clear the sun shines on me, my eye line reaches through the windows and the sun is shinning on me. I have to close my eyes because it is so bright, the warmth of this light upon my face and I remember. I remember who I am.

The desires of my heart are fulfilled, too great for me to achieve are the dreams I have, unless they are not my own dreams, then they will be brought to light this world. "This is the longing of creation itself, the groaning of the Spirit, the very dream of God. My tomorrow is his today. My distant hope is his 3D. And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great 'Amen!' from countless angels, from hero's of the faith, from Christ himself. And his is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner. Guaranteed." And I pray, I pray that the dreams that fill my heart, the visions that fill my mind are not my own, but they are his.

So I know, as I sit here, that I am becoming who he made me, I hope that this pain, this anger, this hurt can be turned to light, can be turned to purpose. Right now I need to reclaim the writer, the girl who would wake in the middle of the night to jot down an idea that could not be missed, the girl who could not leave without a pen and a scrap of paper, who has a supply of Starbucks napkin poems from those moments when she ran out of paper, who would spend a week perfecting an idea so that at the weekend she could sit and write, the line, the poem, the scene, the act, the movement.

The perfect book is like a ballet, ever piece can stand alone, every word is every step and they are beautiful alone, but together the symphony builds into a movement that brings tears to the eyes of the reader.