Loving Wounds
“This hurts me more than you,” says the Father, as he lays out his punishment.
“Stop it!”cries my heart, as the toll of brokenness piles up around me.
“These are wounds of love,” says the Father, his voice filled with tenderness.
“How can this be?” screams my heart, as the pain deepens inside of me.
“Your brokenness will be healed as these open wounds receive my loving correction,” whispers the Father.
“This will kill me!” protests my heart, as the wounds fester blood and water from my tears.
“Yes, it will kill you. Your will must die for life to be born out of these wounds,” breathes the Father.
“I don’t want to die,” argues my heart, as the wounds struggle in agony.
“There is no life without death, unless the seed die, “reminds the Father.
“Why do I have to die?” contends my heart, as the pain throbs.
“Your must die to your will. You must give up your rights,” proclaims the Father.
“In your hands I commit my will,” responds my heart., my brokenness is made whole.
Ron Friesen © 2012
“This hurts me more than you,” says the Father, as he lays out his punishment.
“Stop it!”cries my heart, as the toll of brokenness piles up around me.
“These are wounds of love,” says the Father, his voice filled with tenderness.
“How can this be?” screams my heart, as the pain deepens inside of me.
“Your brokenness will be healed as these open wounds receive my loving correction,” whispers the Father.
“This will kill me!” protests my heart, as the wounds fester blood and water from my tears.
“Yes, it will kill you. Your will must die for life to be born out of these wounds,” breathes the Father.
“I don’t want to die,” argues my heart, as the wounds struggle in agony.
“There is no life without death, unless the seed die, “reminds the Father.
“Why do I have to die?” contends my heart, as the pain throbs.
“Your must die to your will. You must give up your rights,” proclaims the Father.
“In your hands I commit my will,” responds my heart., my brokenness is made whole.
Ron Friesen © 2012
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