In the earliest days of a terrible grief, someone special to us had a prescient dream.  In it, he burned in the trials and clung to rocky cliffs, slipped into peaking seas and ran for his life.  But in the end, he saw himself drifting down from the arc of a blue sky, and finding his place quietly on the grass.  Then he awoke.  And though the image was a towrope almost beyond reach, he grabbed on to the hope of a soft landing.

From our perspective, the dream was more than an unexpected vision that roused his small faith; it was a prophecy, a message in a bottle…inscribed by an unknown author, that traveled an undefined distance, and crossed uncharted seas.  Though it landed on a certain shore and was picked up by one set of hands, its stirring significance is meant for anyone—and all—who wish to hear.

Though the hardships of grief are no less daunting, the varied appearances of this prophecy continue to walk us quickly past the fear of “deeper despair in the last”…and they keep us close to the belief in forever parting clouds.

So we live, and we listen, and we are told to expect that soft ground.  And we do.