Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Dear God,

Out of deep despair and sorrow, the Negro spirituals were born.  Black men, women, and children singing their pain and faith, somehow those songs kept the people going until relief came.

So it is true with us, O Lord.  You put a song in every heart, a song of comfort, hope, or peace.  We may not discover it until we are so low but it is still there.  How well I remember you singing to me when my blood pressure was well beyond stroke level and I was in a remote area of northwest New Mexico.  "Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control, that Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and hath shed his own blood for my soul."  That music for my weary soul was like a healing balm and before I arrived at the hospital, my pressure came down close to normal range.  You saved me with your song.

Blessed Lord,
let my praise
rise to heaven.
Let my joy
bubble over.
Let my gratitude
fill you
with thanksgiving.

Love, Andrea