139

A beautiful August morning it was. On the deck, I watched the new sunrise. The ocean glimmered; my heart sighed. My body slumped on a hard plastic chair. In my lap was my Bible—I meant to read there. I opened to a Psalm, number 139. It was then that I saw it clear and bright, For I read, those sweet verses seemed for me. I saw how He’d formed me, marked out my days, Even that day—to Him my life was no maze. It didn’t matter that the day was hard. It didn’t matter that my arms were pain-wracked. It didn’t matter that tendonitis had come back. If He made my arms and knew all my ways, He was good in the crucible—I lifted my gaze. And the tears ran free, tears of relief. No burden to carry, no grim anvil of weight. A way opened to me: I went through the gate. And so on that day I saw His deep grace, So lovely, so sovereign—it cannot be erased.