What weighs heaviest now will soon be light;
what looms most stormily passes soon.
Clouds cannot linger; waves must break.
Because of this, we wait.
This lightness feels most dense now, but
the weight of glory, light as air,
will fall and smother all your Now
and revel in Not Yet.
We call to mind His Nonetheless and trust;
bookends of anguish hope in morning joy.
Though now the question, soon falls this reply:
Be gathered up in sky.
The Consolations of Writing 