Out of the Box

When your heart is broken, and the sorrow feels like a knife thrust in to your beating heart. . .
When your beyond those tears, beyond the point of even trying to understand. . .

He is there.
He is carrying you, and you don't even know it.

There is always hope for me, because I can lift my weary eyes to that hill, sometimes I forget. . .
that hill.
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord.

The maker of heaven and earth, the breath of life, the artist who painted stars in the black night sky.

The ruler of the ocean's tide, when and if the sun and moon rise.
The coreographer of the plantet's orbits. . .
The cosmic intellectual who designed the universe.

We can't even comprehend the universe.
And he holds it in his hand.

I am confined to this body, confined to this world. . . these things that concern me now, they are only for a short while.

And while I feel I'm walking through the valley of the shadow,
I rest upon the hand of truth, whose love comforts me.
He is all the strength that I will ever need,
He will carry me.

And how can I forget that he has made everything beautiful in its time.
He's set eternity in the hearts of men.
Yet, they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

That's my God.

And He's carrying me.