Canyons heave and
mountains tumble, 
earth beneath will
shift and rumble, 
quaking buildings
tilting and falling 
will God never head
our calling?
Like some hell afire
with trouble,
children buried in the
rubble: 
seems there is no hope
or reason, 
fear unleashed, death
finds its season.
Here in utter
desperation 
harmed by nature's
harsh mutation, 
will we ask 'is God
against us', 
seeking to deny or
test us?
When, O when, as life
is rattled 
and we feel dislodged,
embattled, 
will an avalanche of
praying
turn a God bent on
betraying?
Then when rubble
ceases moving, 
still God's grace, it
seems, needs proving. 
All our trust and hope
is waning, 
faith is taut, near
breaking, straining.
Yet, as neighbours,
sharing grieving, 
let us bring God's
love, relieving 
fears that leave the
world unsleeping
seeding trust, God's
grace unceasing.
© Andrew Pratt
12/5/2015
 ITEMS POSTED ON THIS BLOG MAY BE USED FREELY LOCALLY WITH ACKNOWLEDGEMENT. 
TO PUBLISH FOR PROFIT PLEASE CONTACT THE AUTHOR.
 
