He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3, NKJV
In the predawn hours
when only the first birds
have begun to test their voices
before the arrival of a full choir,
I sit and ruminate life.
In this dark hour You meet me
with comfort only love can give,
and I whisper my failings,
sob out my pain, sing praises,
and You attend me so patiently.
This morning it is doubt
that anguishes me, that same
old niggling feeling that I don’t
measure up, that I have failed
another person — just one
big disappointment —
How could You ever never love
someone as broken as me?
But You still my unsteady spirit,
calm my agitated thoughts,
and remind me I am Yours,
broken shards and all.
Oh, God, thank You for these
grappling hours of meditation
that lead to the sweet stillness
of restoration and the affirmation
of Your perfect peace.
—C.L. Fisher, August 2020
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Poetic Meanderings 