Our hearts are often wounded,  Left gaping from the blows,  Especially when loved ones  Somehow become our foes.  And then comes the healing  As the Savior sews them up,  Reminding us so gently-  He too drank of that cup.  If we could but see as He,  The imprints that remain-  The crosses we will bear  Till He returns again.  And beauty then appears  As it  always does  When He wipes away the tears  And reminds us of His love.

Our hearts are often wounded, Left gaping from the blows, Especially when loved ones Somehow become our foes. And then comes the healing As the Savior sews them up, Reminding us so gently- He too drank of that cup. If we could but see as He, The imprints that remain- The crosses we will bear Till He returns again. And beauty then appears As it always does When He wipes away the tears And reminds us of His love.

painting for my mom

painting for my mom

Pinterest
Search