“Finding purpose through pain caused by disaster, disease and other people while holding on to the promises of God”

In midnight’s hush, the thunder rolled—  
The roof gave way, the night grew cold,  
Disaster’s hand, unbidden, came  
And left behind both wound and flame.  

When fever rose, a ghostly sea  
Of pain that blurred identity,  
Disease, unseen, became my chain—  
A captive in a world of pain.  

And human hearts, their rough, sharp words,  
Fell on me like a cage of birds—  
Each one a beak that pecks and flees,  
Each wound a bruise the soul must seize.  

Yet in the ruins, cracked and sere,  
A whisper wandered, sweet and clear,  
“I will not leave you in the night—  
My promises bring morning light.”  

For battered hope can sometimes see  
The stars behind the canopy.  
His words a lamp beside my feet,  
A pulse within each broken beat.  

I gathered pain like scattered grain,  
And sowed it in the fallowed plain,  
Believing—scar by hidden scar—  
His faithfulness would bloom afar.  

So if you see a heart bowed low  
Where storms have carved their furrowed row,  
Know this: each trial, sharp and odd,  
Is soil made holy by my God.  

And purpose waits in shattered ground,  
In ashes, His assures resound:  
When all seems lost and I give in,  
His promises begin again.

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