empty arms why are you aching
empty halls and empty rooms
empty dreams that never flourished
here inside my empty womb

one more time we spin around
we twist and turn here on this pike
one more time our hopes are dashed
though tried we hard, with all our might

how to keep this heart still beating
stand again each time I fall
walk this road with arms out reaching
taste as bitter as the gall

stubborn arms that still are aching
stubborn too full eyes won’t close
stubborn mind that won’t stop dreaming
stubb’rnly bring to Him who knows

it is a wound that few can see
a wound that lingers ever on
it is a wound that draws me closer
to the breaking of the Dawn

here it is my heart in pieces
quiet through this cold, dark night
once more here with You, and shattered
waiting til the morning light

empty hands I now do lift them
empty dreams here withered small
empty rooms, oh will You fill them?
will You be my all in all?

I recognize that this is an atypical Thanksgiving poem, and I’ve been debating with myself about posting it since I finished a couple days ago. But this is what poured from my heart in the past week, and last night as I was lying in bed thinking it over, I realized it represents a tremendous point of Thanksgiving.

I’m deeply thankful to have a Father who holds my hand during moments I would not willingly choose to live through. A Comforter who embraces me with one arm, and with the other shields me from the tormented skies and hail of arrows. A Suffering Servant acquainted with sorrow, who knows where I go to hide and has never despised my weakness. A Provider who abundantly answers my requests for strengthened faith with opportunities to exercise weak muscles, and a Patient Coach who knows when to put on more weight, and when to make me take a breather in His endless, peaceful meadows.

These are not characteristics I learned about my Father in the harbor, in the bosom of a loving family, or when all things were going as I had hoped — they are things learned in the battle, the storm, the loneliness, the sorrow of unmet hopes and dreams, and in the humble kneeling before the Sovereign Throne of Him who sometimes chooses to give hard answers.

And I am grateful, thankful, in awe, at the tender mercies and loving kindnesses shown to me each morning, each day, each moment. In a huge basket of things I’m thankful for, this is the pearl of great price I hold up on display today for its’ inestimable worth — to really know, deep in my soul and flooding every crevice of brokenness, the meaning of Solace.

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