On a whim…

Psalm 130:5 NRSV “I wait for the LORD, my soul waits,

and in his word I hope.”

Nothing resolved overnight.

The memories had come and gone throughout the week—through song, through the body, through ordinary tasks that suddenly carried weight again. Now there was only what remained after their passing.

The house was quiet. Not dramatically so. Just the ordinary quiet of a morning beginning without urgency. Light entered the room as it always did. The day asked to be lived.

And still, something was unfinished.

Not unanswered questions. Not feelings needing interpretation. Simply the fact that what was lost was still lost, and what had been loved still mattered. Memory had done its work, and it had not delivered closure as payment.

Waiting like this is not passive. It is not optimism. It is endurance without explanation. Staying present to what remains when neither despair nor hope feels honest enough to claim.

The psalmist knows this posture. My soul waits. Not because waiting feels noble, but because there is nothing else to do that would be true. The soul stays awake without demanding relief.

Week 4 does not end with relief.

It ends with attention.