As I walked out to my car this morning I noticed Venus shining brightly over the crescent moon. I was reminded of the period I lived in France. It was a difficult for me in that life circumstances had triggered a major crisis in faith.
The image of God I had had as an all-powerful Creator was shattered and I was left wondering whether I believed at all. There were a few key consolations which kept me going in those months. One of them was the morning star.
As I walked to work each morning I found myself watching Venus. It was something reasonably constant and reliable that I could cling to. The promise of the morning and the rising sun was a thread of hope.
As I pondered that memory on my drive in to work this morning – so many years later – I found myself remembering other times of darkness and confusion. It struck me that in all cases there was an orientating light. Some small sign of hope. A reassurance that I was looking in the right direction and that if I just keep going the dawn would come.
Sometimes that promise of hope is desperately fragile. Sometimes it is more robust. Always, the dawn eventually breaks.