Beside His still waters,
He leads me I'm told,
From mountains of triumph,
To valleys below.
Yet each river I walk,
Cool waters so sweet,
Flows to an ocean,
Churning and deep.
It's mouth opens wide,
Like a traitorous friend,
Emotions poured out,
It feels like the end.
Fresh swallowed by salty,
As in life so endured;
Anguish consuming,
Joy flooded by tears.
Yet through my distress,
In lesson replete, for
There’s growth at the mingling,
Of bitter and sweet.
His sunshine and rain,
My weakness unseats.
His springtime and harvest,
His plan He completes.
And its here that I realize,
There’s no end to His will;
For whether ocean or river,
They are His waters, still.
~
post script.
written in a very dark period of our lives, while still reeling from the loss of a son, this simple muse was not in itself an answer, but rather a small piece of a much larger truth, one a guy named Job came to realize eons before i... simply stated, i do not hold the keys, nor is it even mine to claim i should be able to understand the ways of my creator.
