To feel the stretch of opposites,
the bitterness of death,
and the joy of life,
I came here.

But in this place
I make mistakes.
I don't write for three weeks straight,
lock myself out of things
and forget appointments.

My body,
the very thing I wanted more than anything,
sometimes cannot carry a baby past five weeks.

My soul touches things so bitter,
cold and lonely
It cannot help but bare a scar.

Depression is my shadowed companion,
Anxiety, my inner mind.
I've descended from a place on high,
and lost myself here in the dark.

So when I think of that,
how unsave-able, unfix-able my weaknesses are,
I finally start to understand in part,
how utterly unmatch-able His rescue is.

He, unlost, unfallen, Divine,
comes through filth, crosses chasms,
descends into this dark
baring scars upon His palms.

To find me.

So I can have this.
The hurt, the pain, the sorrow.
But also that.
Saving, light, redemption.

The sound of songs, and voice, and rushing water.
The touch of child fingers in my own.
The smell of strawberry jam simmering on the stove.
A paint brush on a canvas.
My fingers on the keyboard.

The warm encircling embrace
of my forever
reflected in my husband's arms.

And the pains of life turn into victories
every loss is treasure to my soul.

This I take for that.
Ever and ever chosen again.
Death and sorrow for life and joy.
Opposites as teacher.

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