Roses

Show me the roses that grow among the thorns,
Painting the beauty that comes in many forms,
Showing me the good in life that overcomes the pricks,
Revealing the hope throughout the rugged sticks.

Show me the roses that grow through any storm,
Cherishing the drench, whether freezing or warm,
Showing me the joy in life that overcomes the pain,
Teaching me to dance beneath torrential rain.

The thorns feel most severe when reaching for a rose,
Cutting deep, showing flaws, and leaving us to foes.
But as we grasp, we cry out, and find that by our call
We find Jesus, the finest rose of all.

All is Yours, All is Well

God, my dreams are wholly Yours.
My future is not mine.
My hopes and fears with all my tears
Are Yours as well, not mine.

God, my laugh is wholly Yours.
My smile is not my own.
My teeth and tongue, while I’m still young
Are Yours and not my own.

God, my past is wholly Yours:
My jumps and falls and more.
My highs and lows with the hard blows
Are Yours then much more.

God, it’s true this world is Yours.
My world is Yours as well.
My past, my now, my fate, and brow
Are Yours, so all is well.