Despair, a throat choking, finger pointing resemblance of failure.
We glance in its eyes and they stare back cold and unforgiving.
What seems finished however, rarely so in God’s hands.
We seek triumph, the Father, trust.
The Author weaving beautiful stories of a heart and soul surrendered. He allows empty only so He can fill. The breaks in the heart not mended as much as restored with more of Him.
What was irreplaceable still gone; what is eternal, more dear.
It is a strange transaction this. Our happy ending for contentment. Our good for His great. Our plans for His perfect. Our agenda for His forever. Our done for His doing.