Sunday, November 13, 2011

Sweet Poetry

Sleepy Jonathan curled up next to me and rested his head against my shoulder as I sat with my laptop. My blog dashboard was up on the screen as I prepared to post a cool poem I read this morning.

"What exactly does Abba mean anyway?" he asked, yawning.

"It's a name for God," I replied. "It means Daddy."

"So... God's poetry." Jonathan mused.

"Right," I explained. "The Bible says that we are His workmanship. He created us, and when He did that it was like He was the poet, and each of us are a poem that He wrote."

Jonathan thought about that for a second, and then in his sleepy morning voice, he observed sagely, "And every life is a tongue twister."

I guffawed, a sound both boys found very jarring so early in the morning. "That's so true, Jonathan," I exclaimed. "Every life is a tongue twister!"

At least that's how it seems to us. But God is still writing each of our poems, and by His sovereign grace, they are sweet to the ear.

Not remotely coincidentally, here is the poem I had been preparing to post.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

~William Cowper, 1774
(entire hymn here)