My soul is cast down within me; therefore I remember you from the land of Jordan and of Hermon, from Mount Mizar. Deep calls to deep at the thunder of your cataracts; all your waves and your billows have gone over me. (Psalm 42: 6-7)

Last evening I returned home from a long business trip. My soul is cast down. Despite my intention to give up worry for Lent, I have broken the fast. I feel as if I am drowning in worry. I awoke too early and could not return to sleep.

It is, however, good to be home. This is paradoxical. The problems that worry me are - I guess - more susceptible to solution face-to-face with clients and colleagues.

But I have, instead, come home, traveling south through the long-valley at the close of a sunny day. All around me streams and forests tremble on the edge of Winter and Spring. Crossing the mountains in lengthening shadows I arrived home.

My wife and I walked beneath the first stars. Daffodils appeared as specters in the last light. The blossoms of the plum tree might have been a galaxy of dim stars.

I am a small part of God's creation. Shallow in skill and sight, I struggle with my own creating. I am inspired and restored by God's depth and power. May deep call to deep. I should not worry, but there is a real need for whatever depth God has given me.

Above is Bush Plum Dreaming by Kathleen Kngale.