 Waiting for daybreak this endless night deep black sky cool night breeze Morning will come an end to this night far off and unreal the promise is there Darkness changes slowly, unnoticed black is indigo indigo is blue Morning arrives quietly by Donna Campbell
I wallowed in poverty. I struggled in scarcity. I closed my eyes and I cried out, “Give me more!” But instead, You took my hand, opened my eyes, and taught me the difference between need and want. Flames devoured my belongings. Fire revealed my hardship. I closed my eyes and I cried out, “Take me out of this suffering!” But instead, You took my hand, opened my eyes, and walked beside me. Illness ate away at me until no strength remained. I closed my eyes and I cried out, “Take away this sickness and make me strong!” But instead, You took my hand, opened my eyes, and gave me your strength. I was desolate. I thought I was abandoned. I closed my eyes and I cried out, “Take me out of this isolation!” But instead, You took my hand, opened my eyes, and revealed yourself to me in manifold ways. You are with me through the suffering, the joy, the poverty, the plenty the taking, the giving, the pain, and the comfort. You taught me to depend on You through my dependence. You don’t take me out of the fire You are my God through it. You don’t make me rich You are my God through my deficiency. You are constant. I am yours always. You hold me in your hand always And nothing can take me away. You will never relinquish me. You are always with me, Emmanuel. 
Do not miss out on the joy that pain can bring, by ignoring the lessons it teaches. Trying to get through your suffering too quickly, suppressing the sorrow, or disregarding the circumstances can lead to missing out on the blessings, wisdom, and transformation the pain could have brought you.
Romans 5:3-5 says, “Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”  Me, in Kindergarten I held the shattered pieces of my broken heart in my torn and bleeding hands. I had tried to glue them but the sharp fragments pierced my skin over and over. The jagged shards seemed too many to put together. I threw them in the hidden drawer of broken things to fix some other time when I could better handle the tiny remnants. It was insurmountable to me and I decided to put it out of my mind for the time. That was when I realized that the Master Artisan was there with me. He smiled His kind smile and I felt the Love in Him as He hugged me. His smile was gentle and kind but to my shame, my horror He headed straight to the secret drawer stuffed with brokenness. I was frozen in fear and my mind screamed "No!" He looked at the contents of that drawer and in that still quiet voice, He said "This is not your heart Dear Child. I've held that for safekeeping right here in My hands.” Sure enough He opened His Beautiful Craftsman hands and there was my heart safe inside. I was confused though, I didn't understand what the mess in the drawer could be. "This is your pain," He said, "and you don't need to hold on to it anymore." I was reluctant to hand to over. It was ugly, disgusting and covered with dirt, grime, and blood. 'What if the splinters cut you?" I asked. I was crying now unable to come up with any reason other than my fear not to let go of the ever growing contents of the drawer. The Creator showed me His hands once again. I noticed then the wounds, that went all the way through them, and that somehow made them even more beautiful. So I picked up each cutting piece and every sharp fragment and my tears fell on the monstrosity as I handed it over to The Master. He took it all from me and worked it with those rough workman’s hands. Then He gave it back to me. I was astonished, never before had I ever seen anything like it. It was crystal and shining and beautiful. When I peered it into it the reflection looking back at me was the Glorious Countenance of the King. |
AuthorPoetry by Donna Campbell. Over the years, I've written poetry as I have suffered, grown, and learned. Some may seem negative but it was the way I felt in the moment. Archives
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