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.
Hindsight may well make small what now looms large. Perspective minimizes life, Fits disparate chapters into stories, Draws from our griefs new glories. So do not lose heart in sadder stories. These too contribute to true life. By grace, such tests make little faith grow large.
Sadness is a growing thing. It is watered by frustrated plans, fed by unfulfilled affections, lengthened by loss. Sadness is a subtle thing. Unchecked, it soon can choke life and love and laughter as grief sours and breeds bitterness. Sadness is a frail thing. It breaks open and spills out unexpectedly at the slightest touch. Sadness is a fleeting thing, a fading thing. It is disarmed by a deeper truth, held in perspective by purpose, and will be redeemed at the coming of the one whose love was never lost. He will wipe away every tear.
What good are words, and what will they achieve? For they are small before the might of hate And faulty too: they bend beneath the weight Of generations. Can we e’er relieve The burdens under which our brothers heave, All hoping against hope that soon the wait Will end in rest, in justice, in a state Of peace and love and welcome? Now, we grieve, For hope remains a hope, a thing unseen, Desire unsatisfied, dream unfulfilled. Bring justice, Lord, grant peace, and intervene. Convict and humble us till we are stilled. Let tragedy be not the final scene. Let now the hard soil of our souls be tilled.
I cannot find the words to share my grief.
I sit instead in silence, and I mourn
Those dreams that were conceived but never born.
I pray for rest, for respite, for relief.
Remind me of the gospel’s grand motif:
Light for the lost and hope for the forlorn.
This all is grace, the flower and the thorn.
Lord, I believe, but help my unbelief.
I am a broken soul haunted by fears
With naught to offer but these feeble prayers
For hope and help to trust you through the tears.
With glory soon revealed, no pain compares,
So I cling now to you, the God who hears.
O Father, comfort me in these affairs.
Pain is not without its purpose.
Tragedy still points to truth.
Terror may seem to usurp us,
Yet our God is not uncouth.
He, in sov’reignty, is moving.
Evil cannot halt his will.
Through the darkness, he is proving
Faithful. Let us then be still.
Nothing from his gaze is hidden.
He will never fail nor tire.
Evils come to us unbidden;
Evil will one day expire.
Suffer well, O worn believer.
See the larger plan unfold.
Trust the Father, blessed receiver.
He is purging you like gold.
Broken with no hope of being mended; Focused on a chapter that has ended; Feeling as if time has been suspended; Captivated by the sudden stillness- Life appears infected with an illness.
Pain, oh how much longer will you tarry? Fear: oppressive fog around the ferry. How much farther, Father, must I carry Weakness, like a cancer in my being Which corrupts the sights that I am seeing?
Deeply does the curse cause me to suffer. With each passing day, the road feels rougher. God, be my deliverance, my buffer. I can not in my own strength endure this. Must I suffer so much in your service?
Yet your promise holds, for you are working All things for the good – even the hurting. Keep me then, in test and trial, from cursing You in your unfathomable wisdom. Keep me focused on your holy kingdom.