My daddy never talked much.
So whenever he did, especially in moments of pain, or confusion, I listened.
And I remembered.
The first time Daddy saw Ethan after his injury, he told me that his favorite verse was Psalm 30:5.
"For His anger is but for a moment,
His favor is for life;
Weeping may endure for a night,
But joy comes in the morning."
Several years later, from the time Daddy shared that verse with me, I wasn't able to be with him for his eighty-fourth birthday.
I don't remember the reason now, but I was heart-broken.
Actually, I was heart-broken about many things.
Life was different, and it was difficult to adjust to new boundaries and the new considerations for every decision that I had to make.
I felt like I was disappointing the people that I loved and that perhaps they didn't quite understand how hard life had become.
But most of all, I missed the part of Ethan that was gone.
I still do.
The morning of Daddy's birthday, I took my tears and coffee and devotional book out on the front porch and sat down in a rocker.
I let the tears fall as I opened the book to find the reading for May 13.
The verse for that morning's devotion was Daddy's verse.
"Weeping may last for the night,
but joy comes in the morning."
God had seen my broken heart.
He had seen my doubts.
He wanted me to know that He was close.
Close to me.
And close to my daddy.
I cherish the promise that the night, no matter it's darkness and length, will end and that an unimaginable joy will take it's place.
My daddy is literally breaths away from his morning.
And I, as well as all who love him, am rejoicing and giving thanks for the God who is faithful to all He has promised.
"It may be all dark now, but it will soon be light;
it may be all trial now, but it will soon be all happiness.
What does it matter if weeping lasts for a night,
when joy comes in the morning?"