Psalm 77

I cry aloud to God,
aloud to God, that he may hear me.
In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord;
in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying;
my soul refuses to be comforted.
I think of God, and I moan;
I meditate, and my spirit faints.

Absence troubles me. The loss of one I love, the disappearance slowly or suddenly of what gave meaning, the fading of relationship, of context, of identity. But as that which is familiar passes away other opportunities emerge.

Psalm 77