Comfort in Sorrow

When I don’t know how deep this sorrow goes

or when this fount will spill itself out,

I look on you and see

a heart still wounded,

blood and water flowing endlessly

and marks that will not fade.

 

When my soul is lying down in the dust

and I am being ground down,

back into the sand and gravel

from which I was made,

I remember that this is how

wheat is changed into something new.

 

And I know that I can choose

to be poured out like a libation,

broken, and offered up in thanksgiving

in the suffering.

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