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By Garnet Miller
The smallest ones seem to hurt the worst;
They jab at your heart like a red hot poker,
They bite at your skin in a place you can’t get to;
Somewhere always just beyond your reach,
You may wince,
You may get angry,
You may doggedly try to reach the point of the pain,
But then, worst of all,
Numbness creeps into your body,
Indifference begins to bite at you in those hard to reach places, too,
Quitting takes up residence in your mind,
But then, best of all,
Something else is there also;
A voice, faint as first, but then it grows
“Will this be the way your dream ends?” God says,
“Or, will you push through the pain and emerge triumphant,
With my help, of course”;
You cry freely into His loving arms,
Until the tears flow no more.
He holds your face between His two hands,
“Now, my child, it is time to begin again.”
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Nice poem. He's always there to get us past our disappointments, if we will only let Him.