The Only Place To Be

Gentle, Faithful Morning,
You kindly reveal
the Nature of
the One Who Breathed
us into Being.

So strong, so sure
as to make the mountain;
so delicate as to weave
the butterfly’s wings;
so lyrical and free
as to make the breeze
that sings through the treetops.

While here below,
we pray; seeking
strength and grace
for the day; so unsure
and often wilted under
the weight of our sadness.

How can we see
the way forward
in a world where
madness seems to reign
and pain seems to prevail;
where Eden becomes Gethsemane
and the cup received brims
bitter with travail?

But if we can be
still as the mountain
for even a moment,
and light as the butterfly;
beautiful in our fragility;
willing to be carried on the breeze,
then perhaps we may know
the Surge of Trust that overtook
the Beloved One Who sweated
blood in the garden; Trust which
allowed Him to drink the bitter cup~

Knowing the Potter
Who made the vessel
bore His Own Hands of Love,
and that He, Himself, would
become the Sweetest Wine,
so we might taste a Heaven,
presently hard to see, and know
that Wherever Love leads us
is the only place to be.

~Cheryl Anne

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