Help From Heaven

HELP FROM HEAVEN

Where does my help come from?

For where do I look to?

To the clouds? Maybe.

To the sun? Maybe.

To the flowers in the fields? Maybe.

But none is more fulfilling than Him

Whose hands erupts mountains

And with those very hands crumbles them.

His voice commands stars to their orbits

So loud that the universe came into existence.

But so sweet is his whisper made in my ears.

The satisfying joy, pure and complete,

Created not for our faithfulness

But because He is faithful.

For so frail and silly are we humans,

We do not even know if we will live tomorrow,

Yet we plan decades in advance.

So where does my help come from?

The clouds? Maybe.

The sun? Maybe.

The flowers in the fields? Maybe.

But certainly in the sacred promises of the bloody and holy cross.

by The Feather Pencil Chronicles