I know Sunday is the first day of the week. Because I still toil for a wage, I see it as the last day of the week with Monday, the day the sun hopefully rises over my place of employment and the angels sing, as the beginning of the week. I sort of work my way through it a step at a time. If I were to look up and see how much is yet-to-be as I struggled with the-already-is, I'd be lost in the deluge.
This past week was especially arduous for all of us in my family but I'm thinking I might actually see a sliver of daylight against the silhouette of the skyline before me-a skyline that was so dark for so long that I didn't begin to realize it until the last six weeks or so. Our son suggested to me Thursday evening that maybe I was now about three inches taller than I had been as the afternoon was ending. I'm thinking maybe he is right.
Not tall enough, by any means, to get to those things long forgotten and nearly lost in memory on the top shelf of the hall closet all the way in the back. But almost able to believe that after all this time of not wanting them, maybe we really don't need them either.