Originally posted on The Word Wranglers Writing Group 2002

My own painful experiences enabled me to empathize with a friend whose life was “under siege.” Much of the imagery came from conversations with my son, a sculptor, who was working on a bronze project.

I do not think of Thee, oh Lord,
As author of my pain;
For Thou art love, and would not harm
Thy child for any gain.
Through agony you carried me,
Through storm and darkest night.
Your angels tended to my needs
And led me to the light.
Now take, I pray, my sufferings past,
And those that burn me still:
Transmute them to a cleansing fire
And mold me to your will.
For Thou who made a triumph
Of a cruel, shameful cross,
Can take the crude ore of myself
And create strength from loss.
Then let me be a tool for Thee
To lift another higher,
For I, like gold, have been refined
And tested in the fire.