So if the Lenten rose can bloom amidst the snow
Yet if I not carry forth my joy past the continuing rain
Does that make me a bad person, my beloved, my dear?
He told his tale with passion once and again and again
Yet I have not seen the same victory these many years
Does that make me ungrateful before my Savior, my King?
To celebrate this one’s renewed life, ’twas hard-won indeed
Doth makes me part of this man’s humanity in Christ
Yes, takes little, no none from my own pool of goodness . . .
And yet I cried and pushed myself away, away for a time
Lest my tears steal more than the punch line to come,
Dost my ingrace keep me from moving forward one day?
Aye this is a tender place whereat I have landed
Not bad, non-indifferent, full of meaning that I like
Where life meets the road upon which it travels and perceives.
My Lord knows this woe: He cried for the sorrows we do endure
Then gave the breath from His very lips so that we may live,
Be free of it all at last, the strife, every bit, you and I both.
For we two understand what it means to face death
To fear the life places that would ignite some others to thrive
But it took a tragedy beyond belief to get us moving right.
We may have wrestled then let go as our Redeemer carried us along
Finding one day that peace hath returned: covering the tenderness
Becoming the places that defined us whilst ending the story done well.
[My hope is that I am in one of them right now, Gentle Reader.] JJ