The beckoning

Even in the turmoil,

Of the dark desolate place,

There is hope,

A light so bright,

That it beckons,

As if to extend warmth,

A hand,

A smile,

Silly me I must have forgotten my manners,

My furrowed brow says No,

My soul says yes,

My heart is healing slowly.

The truth,

Hope is rising,

More everyday,

To come alongside, Thank you,

My feet are worn and bloody,

My eyes are aching,

But there is hope,

He died for me,

He chose me,

He adopted me,

He is lifting my heart and my head.

He brings restoration,

He brings redemption,

But I struggle,

And He knows,

I squirm and throw a fit,

Because healing hurts,

And I’d rather not feel,

But feeling can only lead to understanding,

His compassion,

His love,

His Grace.

So, I lean into Him,

A little more each day.

May the lies stop hindering my steps.

Will you comfort me as I heal?

I would like that Jesus.

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