Ever have one of those maddening weeks where you dread each day what may be coming up next?

When you see the storm approaching, and there's nothing you can do about it?

When you tense to hear that a spouse’s job—through no fault of his own—is taking a bad direction, and you relive the times (yes, more than once) when your family was jobless and moneyless and even homeless, and you develop an instant headache fearing you may be going down that terrible, torturous road again?

That you remember losing your home, then moving 2,000 miles away. Then moving again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And now, just as you feel secure and solid, you wonder if the world isn’t about to cave in yet again? and closer?

When you look at the budget and your tiny bit of savings and realize it’s all going away far faster than it should? That just last year you thought, “For once in 23 years it’s all working out!” Then you realize that here in year 24, it’s all going downhill again? That bills are suddenly bigger, gas is suddenly more expensive, and even though you’ve always been frugal, Greece’s most drastic austerity plan may become your family’s austerity plan?

That you look at the future and see huge expenses looming and there’s no way in sight to meet them? That dread that hangs over your head, as if shoving you into the hard ground?

Yeah, one of those weeks.

Then ever had one of those days when you hit upon an idea that just might let you earn a few more dollars while still staying at home to take care of your family? And find two places immediately that you can apply to? And then have someone contact you that very day, someone you knew years ago, asking if you want to do a little bit of freelance work on the side again?

Then pick up your van from the repair shop, and the mechanic tells you there’s no charge because even though he spent time working on it, checking things, and tweaking here and there, it really wasn’t worth charging you for it? And now you can afford the tires for the van?

And then, over the peaks of the mountains where you were sure you saw a storm approaching, you begin to see a little bit of sunlight break through?

We call those “tender mercies.” Signs that we haven’t been forgotten. We may be allowed to suffer, but our past sufferings haven’t been forgotten.

There still may be a storm coming, with cold and rain and snow and immense fear and worry, but maybe—just maybe—this time the sun will come out just a little bit faster than last time. 

(All of these photos were taken by me at various times, looking out my bedroom window as I type, and being absolutely amazed at the cloud shows outside. Thanks, Dad, for making me always notice the clouds.)