My working theory grinds out notes only the grateful find.
It’s the imprints on paper uncovered by shading;
. The treasure once buried, now delivered up by a storm
Just as a surgeon who in order to heal, opens old wounds.
Here in their significance, the pain that mining pans couldn’t sift,
God has moved.
Like a solitary lamp.
It’s light wavering to and fro,
as it’s carried carefree over a dark chasm by its jovial lamp-keeper.
. There is little elegance,
. Just complete confidence.
. Even in his apparent clumsiness
. He shows no sway in his perseverance.
Thus I’m told we’re firmly embraced
. Our acts answered by God’s act of grace;
. The costly charitas of Christus;
. The rousing rise of His magnum opus.
The dangerous unsealed road between then and now,
. is a delay between a hurting and mended heart;
. between a bewildered knowing, renewed mind and fresh start.
Why sell a soliloquy of sorrow for cheap sympathy,
. when its rightful place is deep within the joy of a costly symphony?
‘The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all.’
(Psalm 34:18-19, ESV)