What comes in the late quiet hours...

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His left hand is under my head
And His right hand embraces me,
Even when my heart is dead
And all within me longs to flee.
There is no place I'd rather dwell
Than in the here and now,
While His love holds back the fires of hell
I shall turn and bow.
Forgive this weak heart, my Lord,
It cannot comprehend
The heavenly treasure You've stored up
From the beginning to the end.
But here I am, merciful God,
Laid bare before Your throne
You strip away my poor facade
And call me as Your own.

Amen.

These words cannot begin to express the overwhelming thankfulness in my heart tonight.
-KF

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