Beams of Heaven

Beams of heaven,
as I go through the wilderness below,
guide my feet in peaceful ways,
turn my midnights into days.
When in darkness I would grope,
faith always sees a star of hope,
and soon from all life's grief and danger
I shall be free someday.

Oftentimes my sky is clear;
joy abounds without a tear;
though a day so bright begun,
clouds may hide tomorrow's sun.
There'll be a day that's always bright,
a day that never yields to night,
and in its light the streets of glory
I shall behold someday.

Harder yet may be the fight;
right may often yield to might.
Wickedness awhile may reign;
Satan's cause may seem to gain.
There is a God that rules above
with hand of power and heart of love,
and if I'm right, He'll fight my battle.
I shall have peace someday.

Burdens now may crush me down--
disappointments all around,
troubles speak in mournful sigh,
sorrow through a tear-stained eye.
There is a world where pleasure reigns;
no mourning soul shall roam its plains,
and to that land of peace and glory
I shall want to go someday.

Best decision of my day: to buy this CD (Beams of Heaven, from Indelible Grace) on iTunes to listen to while I grade papers. I've loved every song, but this one especially captured my attention with its rich honesty and hope. I love the volta in the middle of each stanza (oh, that's right, I'm trying to be a cool English teacher with my snazzy literary terminology)--the change from a description of current reality to a description of anticipated reality. I think what drew me in was that the current reality is described first; it's not ignored or downplayed, or even later contradicted. I am struggling to learn to be honest about hard realities, and so honesty really resonates with me at the moment. But honesty about the current situation also does not get the final say; hope has the last word, and so remains the lingering focus. And hope seems so much sweeter when juxtaposed with the groaning and aching of reality before it. I feel like I am groaning and aching a lot recently, although this week has been a million times better than last week. My desire would be that I wouldn't just stop with admitting the ache though: that I could simultaneously admit the very real aches--of separation from my brother and other good friends, of exhaustion from my job, of fear for my students and the temptations they're facing, of sorrow for my dad and my whole family over his sickness, of frustration with my own perfectionism and people-pleasing that get in the way of loving people--and still always turn at the end of the day to hope. Hoping for hope: an interesting place to end this week and begin it all over again tomorrow.