Writers 
"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Psalm 30:5*
There were nights I thought would never see the sun,
nights that stretched like oceans with no visible shore,
where every tear felt heavier than the one before,
and hope felt like a battle I had already lost, already won by none.
But somewhere in the scripture, buried deep in ancient ink,
a promise waited patiently for me to understand ,
that weeping has a season, but it is not the final stand,
that morning always comes for those who kneel before they sink.
So I held on through the dark, though my hands were shaking,
though my faith felt thinner than the whisper of a prayer,
I remembered joy was coming, even when I couldn't bear
another hour of the ache my quiet heart was breaking.
And morning came, not loud, not with a trumpet's grand persuasion,
but soft, like light easing gently through the blinds,
like peace returning slowly to a heart that lost its mind,
like joy arriving quietly, right on time, right in its own occasion.
I don't know why the night felt long, why the waiting stretched so wide,
why some seasons feel like winter with no promise of the spring,
but I have learned that God is faithful to His every word, His every thing,
and joy, even delayed, was never far, was always by my side.
So if you're weeping now, if your night still holds you tight,
if the morning feels too distant, like a myth you can't believe,
hold on. Keep breathing. Let your weary heart receive
the promise whispered gently: joy is coming with the light.