Refining is taking place.
Desires, not weeds, just not yet in full bloom,
Push through the dry dirt only to be pruned
By the one gardener who never errs.
There is loss, but there is growth,
Strength from the stripping,
Life from death.
The breath I struggle to catch remains his,
Sufficient,
Efficient
For the work, the fruit, he desires.
Photo by Abigail Miller on Unsplash
How many little moments will we find
Were not without significance at all
But were the subtle graces of a kind
Untarnished by the twistings of the fall?
How many hours of testing will reveal
Themselves to be the reasons for our joys?
How many wounds will show they served to heal?
How many pains upset the serpent’s ploys?
How many seasons thought to have no end
Did end one day with mercy fresh and new?
How many things seemed only to offend
But deepened both my love and faith in you?
How often is there more than eyes can see?
How little do we understand of thee.
Photo by Alexander Slash on Unsplash
The cold has come, the darkness steals the day,
But not in ev’ry way.
For still some voices sing
Of home, a land untouched by this decay.
Though presently we feel the bitter sting
Of this scene’s disarray,
For those who know the King,
The final act is not the fall, but spring.
Photo by Septumia Jacobson on Unsplash
as i learn to walk 