Into every life come moments when the isolated fragility of our existence is broken. Like the summer roses that finally bend over under the heat of the harsh August sun, we slump our shoulders and bow our heads.
Like the flower, we may shed petals and watch them curl into shadowed dry fingers carried away by the wind. Like the tree lashed by the winds and the rain our branches may occasionally crack and break away. We may stare devoid of hope as we inspect that jagged and raw edge left to us by the caprices of life.
Yet spring returns and new blooms emerge, new branches srout, and new energy returns. We can be broken for a time but it is not necessarily an eternal affliction for the soul. Limitations of mind and body need not bruise or hamper the strong sure flight of the soul as it soars the heights. Hymn writer Fannie Crosby, blind yet with piercing sight in her soul, noted: "Chords that were broken will vibrate once more."
Like the flower, we may shed petals and watch them curl into shadowed dry fingers carried away by the wind. Like the tree lashed by the winds and the rain our branches may occasionally crack and break away. We may stare devoid of hope as we inspect that jagged and raw edge left to us by the caprices of life.
Yet spring returns and new blooms emerge, new branches srout, and new energy returns. We can be broken for a time but it is not necessarily an eternal affliction for the soul. Limitations of mind and body need not bruise or hamper the strong sure flight of the soul as it soars the heights. Hymn writer Fannie Crosby, blind yet with piercing sight in her soul, noted: "Chords that were broken will vibrate once more."
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