i fall to my knees, i cry,
“Lord, please take this bitter cup from me,
i don’t want to drink it any more.
give me something pleasing,
some wine to refresh my soul,
some water for my parched lips.”
he kneels down; he draws me close –
tenderly – yet again,
he holds the bitter cup to my lips.
“i’m so sorry child; you must drink again.”
my tears flow; i look up,
and i see that his do too.
with his arm around me, drawing me near,
“drink, again, i must ask you.”
i balk, i resist, i try to spit it out.
it burns my throat; it is too much.
but still he holds the cup
ever so gently to my lips.
i swallow, pain racking my body;
sobs shaking me, i wonder,
how can the one who holds me, comforts me,
be the same one asking this of me?
the same one holding the cup
that leads me near despair?
he looks into my eyes,
“do you trust me?”
i do. i only know him to be kind;
to be good. to be gentle & humble of heart.
“do you know how much i love you?
do you trust that this is for your good?”
in sorrow, yet with peace, i see,
that the hand holding the bitter cup,
is the same hand that is upholding me now.
the heart ordaining my pain,
is the same heart that loves me
more dearly than anyone else.
i marvel, i question, and yet i believe,
the hand that breaks
is the same hand that binds.
the hand which gives me the bitter cup
is the same hand that wipes my tears.
and in both, he is good.