“Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him: but I will maintain mine own ways before him.” Job 13:15 KJV
Though Thou slay me, yet will I trust in Thee Thou holdest my fragile world in Thy hand, The tides and seasons turn at Thy command — Speck of dust am I in eternity, Bestowed a moment’s breath on earth to be — The wildest joys came I to comprehend, Life’s strange conundrums yet to understand, Someday revealed in immortality.
I have no stake in my own life but Thine, Possessing nothing in this world but Thee Thou sittest in the altar of my heart The ever purest love I know is mine Through hail and thunderstorms I have one plea That from Thy house I never will depart.
My soul dwells secure in pleasant mountains Creator-carved, where cloud-sent rains descend to quench desiccated tongues and rays of molten sun embrace the evening-cold shoulders —
What little matters to some are minuscule, momentary dewdrops adrift in endless possibilities, whirling from the gift of measured life-breaths apportioned to the living among us all —
every sacred miraculous moment of what we call today.
She walks in silence among the lilies dressed in white against the purple twilight as verse and chapter fade into the night, lost chords of song, unfinished symphonies, jigsaw puzzles of life’s perplexities — time to let go what once was held so tight let darkest hours await for gleams of light when morning breaks with possibilities.
I bask in the linen warmth of summer rejoicing with the creatures of the field on a warm July I will remember when doors closed shut, familiar pathways sealed I look to topaz days of November to start anew, heart’s joy will I not yield.
The air was a white, pearlescent haze as I walked upon the street cobblestones along some quaint shops in a New England village. A small leather bag hanged from my right wrist and in it were my credit cards, driver’s license, passport, and some dollar bills. I felt uncomfortable with the small bag as it was not the shoulder bag I usually carry around.
After walking a while, I sought refuge in a furniture store where I could rest my aching feet. It was then when I noticed that my little leather bag was no longer around my wrist. Suddenly I felt a whirlwind of panic — I have lost the objects of my identity! In the midst of my bewilderment, a kind, middle-aged lady approached me and I told her my plight. With a sweet, soothing voice she said, “My dear, everything can be replaced”.
I blinked and rubbed my eyes. It was all a dream.
The leather wrist bag flashed in my mind and immediately I was smacked with a shock of recognition: it was the exact same bag my father had given me to hold my passport, plane ticket and three single dollar bills when I left home decades ago to pursue graduate studies in a foreign land.
All I owned when I embarked on the plane were three single dollar bills, a few clothes in a small suitcase, and my name.
In a faraway land, God has faithfully provided for me through the promise of each new day, especially through difficult circumstances, across the landscapes of the seasons and the years.
In this life I can easily misplace so many worldly “things” which can be replaced. What I cannot lose is the essence of who I am as a child of God. Though the seedling has grown into a strong, tall tree which blossoms every spring, I am that same young lady who left everything behind, flew towards the stars, crossed oceans and mountains, to pursue a dream.
Upon the sand will I not build my house for when rains descend and floods overflow, the winds will howl and beat upon its walls and it will crumble, great will be its fall
I need no chandeliers, nor porcelain china, hand-painted with silver and gold, no dinner dainties with a fattened ox, content am I to dine on herbs with love.
I seek a shelter strong with warmth and light where rains and winds and floods can’t topple down and love burns bright in apple wood hearth fires and nightingale songs fill the evening air —-
Upon solid rock will I build my house, there will I find emeralds and rubies.
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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