A Gray Thought

Why I love the Color Gray

First, I loved it for its contribution to rain. As a little girl I was so fascinated by the dark clouds, thick sky, and heavy wind that always meant a rain storm was on its way. Gray was the theme of every rainstorm - it still is. And I still love it. I do not always have the time to dance in the puddles like I used to, but my appreciation for God's Teardrops remains the same. 

Then, I loved it for its temperance. A perfect blend of two extremes of the spectrum. Black and white. Gray. For whatever reason I felt a need to become gray myself - not too much of anything. Yet, as I grew older still, I learned and realized that my enemies love the color for the very same reason. 

Evil and good. Gray. 

If it all blends together, who's to say there's any truth left in this world? 

And so, desperately, I searched for the real, final reason of why this color could possibly mean so much to me. And I have found it in my poetry. 

I love the color gray for the same reason I love the gospel. For the same reason I look to Christ. For the same reason I love the smell of rain, and the same reason I have a journal of poems entitled iHope. 

Gray reflects Potential. 

It insinuates Hope and Possibility. 

It brightens the black sky, and shines through the end of the tunnel to remind me that, though all is not perfectly right yet, though the sun does not always shine directly above me, light is on its way. 

When I see gray, I remember that I am not lost. 

I remember that I still have a destination, I still have purity to attain; but that I am no longer hopeless. 

No longer alone. 

The Devil loves Gray for its shadow. I love it for its light. 

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