Wounded Healer
Out of her pain
the words fell on the page,
like a vase shattered
lying in wait
for a potter to come
and mold.
She waited and waited
wondering had she
been forgotten.
Was there no purpose,
or was the purpose her pain?
Was there no answer,
what was to be gained?
Rain fell, the sun rose,
dusk fell again
as she waited.
Was she to be
her own answer,
or lie in wait
drifting farther into
uselessness?
Then from somewhere beyond
hands, strong, willing, caring,
picked up the peices
crafting
until she was made
whole.
Not as she was
in the beginning,
more beautiful.
And the cracks
when seen by others
enable her to share
her brokeness,
not in vain...
but to tell of the
beautiful hand
that reached down
to mold His purpose,
for He was the potter
and she the clay.
- - - - - -
(c) Stella MacPhee
April 7, 1999.
You taught me how to love
My mornings once were cloudy
You gave me hope to share
free to be what I planned
Peace
How could one explain
this peace You've given me,
as no human words describe
how you set me free.
when my heart was so empty.
You put the pieces all together.
Now, "Share" You say, "there's plenty."
and knew only darkened pain,
but you came in with sunshine
and took away the rain.
with others who cannot see;
their hearts and minds are bound,
and You said, "Go set them free...
happy and full of love."
As a flower opens to the sun,
You guide me from above.
- - - - - - -
"God's Love heals the broken heart."
(c) Stella MacPhee, April 1994.