God’s will is good
but painful still.
Words cannot express.
By drawing blood,
intends to heal,
knowing what is best.
If up to us
we’d suffer not,
to our detriment.
Not up to us,
we suffer, but
to our contentment.
Do not despise
the rod of love –
it will blossom soon.
Your teary eyes
must look above
though you think you’ll swoon.
Rich in suff’ring,
family, friends,
things to thank Him for.
No buffeting
your soul can dread
takes you from your Lord.
When asking, “Why?”
and hearing naught,
instead, just ask, “Who?”
He says, “T’was I,”
says sorry not,
“Where on earth were you?”
