Your Ear Is a Womb
Sponsored
Catholic365 is sponsored by
Road to Purity
The sun does not always arrive in gold.
Sometimes it comes quietly—
a pale smudge behind clouds,
a whisper more than a blaze,
a warm breath on a cold shoulder.
But it comes.
It always comes.
I’ve lived enough midnights
to know darkness can sound permanent—
it has a voice that convinces,
a silence that echoes,
a cold that seeps into memory
and tries to rewrite truth.
But even when the world feels dim,
even when faith flickers like a failing lamp,
somewhere behind the heaviness
light is gathering itself,
warming its hands,
waiting for its cue
The sun is the only teacher
that never uses words
yet teaches everything:
patience,
resilience,
return,
resurrection.
Every dawn is a reminder—
light may rest
but it does not retreat.
It pauses
but it does not perish.
And maybe
that is the quiet miracle
we forget to praise:
the sun rises for us
even on days
we don’t know how to rise ourselves.
It climbs the sky
for the broken,
the grieving,
the lost,
the hopeful,
the tired,
the believers,
the doubters—
for anyone who still needs proof
that endings can learn
to become beginnings.
So when life dims again—
as it will,
as it must—
I’ll hold this truth
like a warm coin in my palms:
The sun never dies.
It only steps back
to let us learn
how to glow on our own
before it returns
to show us
how brilliantly we survived the dark.
A poet, author, and faith writer who believes words can heal what silence hides. My poetry collections — Inked Emotions, Scattered Feelings Stitched in Ink, and Love Beyond Loss — were born out of seasons of grief, solitude, and deep reflection.
Here on Catholic365, I’ve been humbled to share reflections that have reached hundreds of readers. I write not from a place of perfection, but from a longing to make sense of love, loss, and the quiet ways God speaks into our lives.
Whether it’s a poem, a story, or a small reflection, my hope is that you feel seen, encouraged, and gently reminded that faith isn’t always loud — sometimes it’s found in the waiting, the falling, the starting again.
You can find more of my work at https://about.me/anniedcosta
