There was a time in my life
when I fell so hard
that I was sure it rendered my knees
permanently useless.
If I'd had my way
that day,
lightening would have fallen
from heaven
to put me out
of my misery.
Debilitated,
with no will left in me
to live,
(sure I would never walk again)
the fear of God
forced breath
into my lifeless lungs.
(I'd have preferred them to go limp,
considering the pain
behind each breath.)
Somehow,
not by my will,
but by divine will,
I was able to crawl.
Strength?
I stand in awe:
There is no strength
like the strength
poured out on a cripple
when they're broken down,
helpless and hopeless,
lifeless,
on their knees.
You have so much power when you are on your knees. He sees what no one else does and hears when no one else does. The pit is the place He takes the miry clay to form us into His glorious design for us. Beautiful poem.
