For Those Who Walk

Circumstance tries to dictate that what we've been dealt is defeat
But as I hear His laugh reverberate from the throne
Whispering in the winds and rattling the mountains
I hear only victory.

Not even in death is there defeat.

As we gather, Your fire stirs
The ground begins to shake
and the earth, removed.

No pain
No hurt
No grief
Can stand up
to Your mighty name.

I wear this fire
like the clothes on my back.
Nothing will douse Your love, Your grace

Not pain
Not hurt
Not grief
Not death.

This ‘mountain’ before us is merely a mound of sand
That will flatten under the weight of [ Y ]our arrival.

Earth movers
Ground shakers
Mountain splitters
and Giant slayers
Be not silenced

But fill the air
With praise
And the sky
With fire.

Like Glass

how do we carry on when our lives are knocked to the floor, shattered like glass, consequently scattered and the pieces never to be assembled again.
scraping and trying to discern what pieces fit back together, while we find that we're missing too many pieces to make this life look the way it did before someone took it and knocked it off the shelf.
we're all made of the thinnest glass possible, we just guard the glass differently.
placed on higher shelves, encased in glass boxes or stowed away where no one will find it.

what do we do when we pick up that shattered glass, but throw it away.
if we cherished what is now the shattered remains, we might hold off for a bit,
but in the end we know it's useless to keep the pile we've brushed together.
which of us melts that glass and molds the pieces back together?

how do we carry on