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And the Spirit Hovered.

Before time it was there. The Spirit. And it hovered.

Hovered over the seas. Waiting. Resting.

Sometimes our lives themselves feel formless. Empty. And darkness is over the surface of the deep.

I think about the worst days of my life. The days when I was in such excruciating pain that I begged God to intervene.

And the Spirit hovered.

I think about crying so hard I couldn’t stand, couldn’t catch my breath. Unable to pray between sobs, pressing my hands into my heart because it felt like it would burst.

And the Spirit hovered.

I think about waking up in the night out of nightmares that shook me to my core. Nightmares where I got what I had prayed for only to wake up and realize nothing had changed. Nightmares where they left again. And I laid in my bed and cried silent tears into my pillow.

And the Spirit hovered.

I think about the times the only word I could squeeze out of my closed throat was, “Why?” I think about the things I said in anger. The things I accused God of. The silence that followed my words.

And the Spirit hovered.

I think about holding my mom’s hand in that hospital bed, wrapping her fingers around my hand and whispering to her that I was sorry. I think about how I leaned in close to her ear and told her some of the deepest secrets of my heart because I wanted her to know.

And the Spirit hovered.

And the guilt is overwhelming sometimes. And the grief pummels me until I want to die myself.

And the Spirit hovers.

I think about one of my daughters in the faith who shares with me pain beyond description. I weep for the little girl she was. I weep for the unfairness.

And the Spirit hovers.

And I think about seeing others in their pain. Babies buried. Wedding rings taken off. Hunger and hopelessness and poverty and injustice.

And the Spirit hovers.

And it seems like nothing is happening. And things are too still and too quiet. And no relief comes in the nights. And your heart hurts in ways you never imagined was possible, hurts in physical pain.

And the Spirit is hovering.

The silence is deafening. And you don’t know why. And you can’t stand and you can’t breathe and you beg God for a break.

And still the Spirit hovers.

But new creation happens in the dark. Creation happens in the silence. And it aches, this growing and pulling and digging. And we didn’t ask for it. And it is hard.

Creation is happening as the Spirit hovers. You may not see it or feel it. But the Spirit is hovering. And the call of “Let there be light!” is coming. And the light will be separated from the darkness. And there will be evening and there will be morning.

And it will be good.

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