Weary, I wrestle with the memories that invade the black. I wait anxiously for the break of dawn...but the seconds are unending. The darkness that smothers, I drowned out with noise, distractions, busyness. Is this why I have a difficult time being still before my God? Before my heart reaches His I must be still...but being still means walking through the memories - the pain. I make my way to the family room. I sit alone. Tired of feeling - feeling nothing and yet consumed with an ache that penetrates deep into my bones. Reaching for the memories, I slowly crack open the tattered pages of the album. I'm instantly surrounded with memories of laughter, memories of terror, memories forgotten and buried until...always forgotten until... I touch the pages as if they are sacred. Running my fingers over their faces, outlining each detail as if their flesh was before me. Some have made their way into et...