So we come to a crossroads, my beloved and I
From where will we go from here to continue my care?
No cure hath cometh from a year of killer drugs within
Five years of tortuous suffering with costs beyond compare.
We don’t know why the trauma continues to this day
Whether it will continue or end? There are no promises
That when we show up in this life that all will be grand
But shunting the yearn for heaven my dear, the treats beyond.
Today I am tired but stable, weak but reflective
Grateful for so much while I ponder theses woes . . .
My beloved is sweeter than honey
His warmth a comfort to my hol-ey bones
He loves me deeply still; I see it every day
And life’s sweetest: love from this man I have come to know.
Alas I search the scripture and find that even Job
Needed to trust in the Lord not knowing why
His suffering exceeded the faith of his friends, his kin
When all was really a battle within the spiritual realm
Having very little to do with his past, to do with him.
So in the seasoning of the late missionary, Helen Roseveare
“Can you thank me for trusting you with this experience
Even if I never tell you why?” God asked of her in the midst of terror.
“He doesn’t have to tell us why,” she would learn
“But He often does in His gracious, loving mercy,” for sure.
So I will seek the perspective of the privilege
It is to be used in this life by the Lord almighty
Relinquish my frame to His plan and outrageous love
Then wait and see: He is worthy. My response: humility.