This morning when I left the house, the world was enshrouded in fog. It wasn’t quite the pea-soup variety, but it was dense and low-lying and gave me a chill despite the not-cold temperature.
It seemed a perfectly fitting environment for the way I feel this morning. The funeral is finished; the flowers fading; and the future is settling around us in a misty film that makes it hard to imagine how we can safely move forward.
The fog is internal, too. Yesterday at work, I felt it swirling in my brain as I tried to listen and respond and read and write and upload and whatever else. My job, on a good day, requires multitasking. Yesterday — and today, I fear, and probably some tomorrows — I’m barely able to task.
I Googled “lack of concentration and grief,” so I know that I’m far from unique in this fogginess. I know that I should be patient with myself and not try to rush ahead too quickly. I know that people understand.
But most of all, I know that eventually the fog will lift. I know that God is working good things, even in the midst of the fog, and that in Matthew 5:4 Jesus himself promised, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted” and Psalm 147:3 tells us “He heals the brokenhearted.”
(Oh, and the photo is a stock image. I did NOT take a photo while driving.)