Sweet will be the flower

There's something about the wild unpopularity of poetry that pulls me in. Or maybe it's that it is like nothing else you'll read, but you seem to find it in every feature of life.

When I feel like I am too much and not enough at the same time, I head to the pages of rhythmic words. They're steady. They remind me why I cling on to hope. They welcome me home. 

Sometimes God tells us to do something, and the time we decide to say yes is when He makes us wait for the good part. And we may never see it until the day we go. But William Cowper helps me remember how much the good part will be worth it.

"His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower."

Poetry will slow you down if you let it. I embrace that, and read every word like it's my last. Think about it. His purposes are unfolding… every. single. hour. 

The promise of Jesus. Hallelujah. 

Or maybe you've been seeking, but faith won't seem to show its face…

I am weary of trying, God.

Charles Wesley tells me to start with being honest to the One in whom our faith is grounded.

"Fill me, Radiancy Divine, 

Scatter all my unbelief,

More and more thyself display,

Shining to the perfect day."

The poets become my friends. In Scripture and song, they're present. they enter in and point me back to the Father. 

So I tread on with steadfastness and hope, holding pages to my chest, reaching my hand to touch the glimpse of light shining so uniquely in a universe of darkness.

"Light! more light! the

shadows deepen,

And my life is ebbing low,

Throw the windows widely open: 

Light! more light!"

-Frances Ellen Watkins Harper