Nimbostratus

I could  see the moon this morning. It was silent and pale, strong somehow. If defying the sun to rise.

The sun has risen, although you can’t see much of it. It’s hidden behind low, thick layers of the nimbostratus.

It’s a very simple rule, really. Just because something is hidden, doesn’t mean its not there.

We learn this very slowly. Mama leaves the room to go to the bathroom, and the baby begins to cry.

A father takes his little girl by the hand and leads her into her kindergarten classroom. All is well, until he steps out, promising to pick her up that afternoon. She sits on her small chair and cries, half-ashamed but unable to help it. The afternoon is a lifetime away, there is the chance he might not come back.

These moments come and go, helping us learn what it means to trust, and who or what to trust. Yet still we conclude, when we lose our job or our relationship or our friend or family member, that we’re alone. The trust is broken. We erase the hope of a God ever existing.

This is true for over half of the population of Holland, one of the most secular countries in Western Europe.

But I am from Florida, and which makes me somewhat of an expert on sunshine. And even though the rays don’t break through the nimbo stratus, even though the heat isn’t as intense, I know that the sun shines on Holland.

Clouds that blanket northwestern Europe teach us to say, You can’t fool me. I know the sun is there, along with the blue. I haven’t forgotten it. I’ve flown over this land and I know from the clear places what the low-lying clouds look like over this low-lying country, these Neder-lands.

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