Growth

Demons of Doubt trouble me deeply,
tempting thoughts of twisted Truth twining 'round my wrists.
Rising and afraid, I raise my voice to my Savior:
"Save me Lord!" His sad servant calls.
As a kindness, he quickly comes, murmuring:
My child, My boy, My dear man, I Made thee!"
Moments of Mercy pass between us, beneath us, around and about us. Bliss.

The pain of Doubt, now dead and done. Long dead, in Truth, never living.
That once twisted Truth, now whole and wholesome, does not hinder but helps, ever giving.
Beaten, bruised, broken lies become beautiful gifts from God.
Gold and silver, good and true, gauntlet now my arms.
Hands to hold, hearten and humble, to hurting and healing akin.
For to bear a burden, become a blessing, and be one man among men.