I sit here thinking on my life,
Recalling times of joy and strife,
And thanking God for what His will has done.
.
If my life were words and lines,
Then there are lines I’d never write,
For fear that subplot might consume my soul.
.
Would you write ‘death’ or ‘pain’ or ‘cancer,’
Scribble in a lack of answers,
Or author up some hardships for your life?
.
Would you compose a dash of trials,
Just a pinch of heartache,
If you knew things would unfold just as you write them?
.
None of us would want this pain.
And yet, by grace I’ve come to learn
Its value in the plot.
.
God is Author of all things.
His pen has written what will be,
Long before things were.
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Each difficulty has its place.
It gives a thirst for peace and grace
Found only through His Son.
.
You see,
Sometimes I fail to cling to Him
When life is bless’d and sweet.
Seldom has an average day
Forced me to His feet.
.
And if it’s true that at His feet
Are stores of grace so bright,
A centeredness and selflessness,
A most abundant life,
.
Then all the writings in this plot,
Each twisting of the pen,
Each counterpoint, each conflict,
Every trial, every pain,
.
Each one driving me to kneel,
Before my Lord of Life,
Can these be but mercy,
Love, and grace come in disguise?
.
And so, my heart is thankful
For the things I have and don’t.
I am more than full and filled up
By my Author, Lamb, and Lord.
