Words I cannot say,
I feel as if I am buried up to my neck in clay.
A door that I cannot see,
Despite having the key.
The devastation is much too real,
I see your hand in things that you are about to reveal.
People are in so much pain,
But it’s only by Your hand that You sustain.
Tears have stained my face,
In my unworthiness You have extended Your grace.
Wounds, people say that only time can heal,
But no, Jesus did on that Golgotha Hill.
© Deborah Seale Schnadelbach