Oft’ times amidst life’s seasons, we face uncertainty;
Trials come from our own making – or they strike unexpectedly.
In those times when God seems distant and we’re tempted to despair,
Contemplate the reason being – Did He place or bid me there?
Though prone to seek the comfort of a life of endless ease,
Providential interference comes to drive me to my knees.
Whether desert, cave, or anvil – even herculean storm
God is “working things together” my life’s purpose to transform.
When my desert wanderings lengthen; barren vastness dries my soul.
Scorching heat and sand’s erosion blast their overwhelming toll.
Could it be that God is working – all what’s worthless to consume?
Is my desert meant to punish or prepare for future bloom?
A cave’s shelter beckons to me; cool relief from parching heat.
Clammy dampness; deep, dark shadows; hiding out in stark retreat.
Yet, is this His best plan for me – far removed from battle call?
Or am I simply still resisting, failing to surrender all?
When He calls me to His anvil, clanging, shaping blows to bear,
Am I tempered to His likeness or resistant of His care?
Is my hand upon His hammer as a shield against what’s marred?
Will I trust His hands of mercy to restore a life’s that’s scarred?
As the storms of life confront me, crashing waves my craft befall;
Impulse calls for tireless rowing, bailing, flound’ring in the squall.
Fearful thoughts of preservation; seeking comfort from the gale;
Doubting questions hurled skyward, “Carest Thou not the storms prevail?”
“Will You leave me unattended; life endangered, looming wreck?”
Howling winds the sails assaulting; wind-swept spray across my deck.
Then I hear Him speaking to me, “This storm’s mine – child, have no fear.
The storm’s intent is not to frighten but to cause you to draw near.”
Will I listen in the desert for His voice from bush aflame?
Will I shun the cave’s seclusion, urged outside by whispered name?
Will I stretch across the anvil trusting Him my life to form?
Will I rest on deck with Jesus, eyes on Him, not on the storm?