This is what our Sovereign Lord says,
Oh house of Israel, aren't thou in thy hands the clay
that I may mold you and shape you
making you as I may?
This is what we the chosen ones say,
The distress of difficulties
the anguish of sorrow,
the bitter pain of persecution,
yields the peaceable fruit of tomorrow.
Bringing out His destined tools
of adversity create a flame
temperatures of extreme heat,
we will never be the same.
Smashing down and plummeting,
breaking into pieces, chiseling away
removes all the impurities
and prunes back the decay.
During this appointed time
words just can not express......
the unreasonable, unfathomable,
inexplicable pain of this process.
The depth of this intensity
seems to never relent.
Sometimes even our cries of mercy
won't remove our lament.
The dark billowy cloud
engulfs with the temptation to despair.
But have hope my beloved,
God still needs to repair.
Those old waste houses
and barren waste lands
to create something so beautiful
with the touch of His mighty hands.
Through this fiery furnace,
God will sustain His own
allowing only what He wills,
reassuring us we are not alone.
Oh give thanks dear children
persevere, be patient and hold,
to those sweet cries of relief
bring forth the finished product Gold!
By Cynthia Holwick (July 1998)