I make my pray’r to you. You answer, “No.”
And I don’t understand your reasoning.
I ask to stay, but you call me to go.
‘Tis daily bread with bitter seasoning.
I try to turn my grief into a gift:
My heart’s desires become my offering.
But I can’t see the rescue in the rift,
And sov’reign love feels much like suffering.
In seasons such as this, my faith is stretched,
A stretching that is needed though it hurts.
And through the test, your grace and truth are etched
Upon my heart more deeply and convert
My ignorance and fear to trust in you,
The God of love who’s making all things new.

Photo by Benjamin Huggett on Unsplash