Letter: Yet

‘Yet’ is such a lovely little word although, typically, the context is one of turmoil.

The “Are We There Yet?”  nursery rhyme, for example, takes the incessant and insistent backseat question of the impatient traveling companions and turns groans into games:

“Let’s play a game.

Look at where we are.

Won’t you look with me?

And tell me what you see.

Driving in the car.”

What do you see from where you are?

Especially when present painful circumstances – the nagging reminder from the backseat of your mind – suggest anything other than more of the same.

And yet.

And yet this little word can have such a far reaching impact.

Like a puff of air can send the tiny parachutes of a dandelion far on their way, ‘yet’ serves as a statement, an affirmation, a declaration that sows seeds of hope in the future.

‘Yet’ sees an outcome, a solution, a destination that things will not always be as they are.

‘Yet’ declares that though all conditions at the moment mock your faith and rock your world, yet – still, nonetheless, however, present circumstances notwithstanding – there is yet a reason for purposeful living.

‘Yet’ may very well emanate from your inmost being as, unheard by anyone else, far more a silent cry, far less a sounding cymbal.

‘Yet’ may be but the barest of whispers, an exhausted sigh, but – even so, nevertheless, regardless, still – that whisper is yet a belief that yes, you are here, but no, you are not there. 

Not yet.

Psalm 42.