Shall we accept good from God and not trouble,
And slump dejected on the ash heap,
Mourning all morning
And storming a warning:
“Life is broken, God has gone”?
I don’t much fancy adding ash rash to my troubles,
Or lamenting his absence
When he’s the infinite Presence,
Or throwing the loss of all hope
In the face of the One who gave me all life,
Denying his reality when he is the Master key.
No! I will rejoice always, I will pray continually,
I will give thanks in all circumstances.
In the good and the bad and the ugly and the broken,
In the adoring and the warring
and the washing the kitchen flooring,
Thanks be to God.
He unlocks the gloom, the glower, the grief,
Lifts me from the ash heap.
But he doesn’t just reset me to neutral
Or restore my factory settings.
When I turn all of me towards him,
His consolations rejoice my soul.
Not fleeting flurries or bubbling glee
Or an inane grin tied tight over pain.
This joy isn’t crushed by the weight of the day,
It grows stronger when stressed and compressed.
It’s the foundation, stable, solid, set
Of a life built on Him.