There I was, sitting comfortably, not much on my mind, no deep thoughts, when hundreds of long, floppy, blue tentacles suddenly approached and surrounded me. Soon gushes of water threatened me from all sides, and I wondered what bruising or bashing would come next.

Darkness took over. I heard pounding at my door, pressing at my windows, scraping on my roof. The noise was very methodical—pound, press, scrape, pound, press, scrape again and again. I had come in a bit worse for the wear, in need of being made clean, but this was scary. Good grief! What would happen next?

Then, through the ebbing turbulence I heard the sweet chirping of birds and soothing piano music. Yes! Hope was near.

Ah, relief! The swirling had ceased and the frothing settled, all grime was washed away in their wake. The light at the end of the tunnel broke through and I was safe.

To walk this life is to be spattered by its seamy side. To live as part of fallen humanity is to stumble, to lose sight of the real certainties. Too often we allow despair to take up residence as a permanent squatter without offering so much as a whimper of opposition, because More >