Fragile is the hand that ticks the moments
of a life.
In tragedy the world over all too often
the hand it stops and time here is done.
Eternity only will bring the reuniting.
Only the good die young, it is true.
And only the strong and brave
survive to live amidst the loss.
It’s hard to know what to say when
we think of things like grief and pain
countries torn apart, a new neighbor for us,
and the struggle to be free.
I have never felt so small and insignificant
against the weight of what threatens
to overwhelm.
Small in my own eyes knowing that it is
a place to live from.
There’s little, oh so, so little, I can do to
take away the pain.
Moments of small are touching the grieving
hearts and shedding tears that drip drip
to the beat of the heart of God.
I am small and so I breathe the only way
to see the big happen in this world.
Out the surrender of what I cannot change
and in the prayer to the One who holds it all.
I let go of my own fleeting life and all allusion of
control and I take up the truth of the One
who has promised to redeem.
I lift these shaking, trembling hands the tiny
mustard seed of faith and cry the tears
for all the fragile lost and the hope rises
that will grace the new day.
