Fog is beautiful, mysterious, scary.

It hangs down in the trees, covering branches and leaves so they are not seen, covering houses and just touching the road with tiny pale fingers.

The weather men call it “patchy” and “dense”.  It is very thick in just a few places.  When the fog parts, bright sun shines down.

With the cooler weather here in Georgia, fog comes each morning and lingers in the valleys.  As I drive my little one to school, fog hangs over the mountain and allows just small breaks for trees to peek through.

The fog prevents sight of what is ahead, allowing me to see only just in front of me, unable to see what lies beyond the next tree.

Both beauty and danger lie in the fog. 

The imagination soars of what could be.  A beautiful buck standing next to the road, alone in the fog and silence?

Fog lends itself to feelings of remoteness.  No one else around, within sight.

When the diagnosis comes, fog rolls in.  Emotional, spiritual, physical fog.

The dense fog is isolating, giving the appearance of others not in sight.

The fog is mysterious, no one knows what is along that road ahead.   What does the diagnosis bring? What is the outcome?  Not even the doctors know.  What will the family look like, be like?  No one knows.

Fog causes deliberateness in each next step.  Slowing down of functioning, both in life and in family.

Fog causes trust.   Trust to keep walking the road.  Trust to not quit.  Trust that no matter what is on or near or over the road, I must walk.

But who or what is the trust in? Is the trust in man, doctors, therapists, caregivers, to lead through the fog? Is the trust in God, who can seem so distant and seem to have left, left alone in the fog?  I find myself calling out, to continue to say, God I trust in You.

Both beauty and danger lie in the fog. 



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