Did your broken idols desert you just before first light? Did the deity of the day demand a coin so sharp it made your fingers bleed? You raised your voice in prayer and your eyes to the kingdom above, but still you felt alone. Is there anyone awaiting you in heaven? Or does all eternity lie empty – dusty and forlorn? If the morning breaks your beating heart and the sunrise pours through your dried husk like tiny daggers; you can be sure that you are not alone. An army of dispossessed travellers have stood where you stand now – their heads bowed in solemnity and isolation – their tears falling as gentle rain – anointing the gathered congregation in their desolation and sorrow.
If you ever mend those broken idols – or fetch the day into your bosom; spare a thought for those who toil still with disappointments too great to shoulder and disillusionments too bitter to bear. They were once children of the sun and shone like that star which blesses us with life and bestows the day with purpose. Remember that you too were once alone and you have sojourned through the dark of night to stand naked before a cold grey dawn. Say a prayer for those who tarry still in the wilderness – cloaked in anguish and weighed down with sadness too heavy to carry alone. Theirs is a grace too dear to measure in cups or wands and their tears will abide till the passing of the world.