The Three Strands

When the world outside is winter, frosted, sharp, and deep,And the frustrations of the day steal the rest I need to keep,

There are three enduring pillars where my fragile spirit turns,

Three sacred, burning truths where the central fire burns.

First, The Unseen Hand: The mighty love of God, The ancient, patient promise held in every path I’ve trod.

He is the silent Architect who drew the final plan, The Grace that holds the pieces of a weary woman and man.

He is the Anchor in the storm, the light upon the reef, The unwavering assurance that defies all doubt and grief.

Next, The Enduring Creed: The structure of the Faith, The gentle, guiding discipline that saves my soul from wraith.

It is the Rosary’s rhythm, the incense rising slow, The quiet, sudden comfort when the Eucharist makes me whole.

It is the quilt of doctrine, sewn with patience through the years, Protecting all my wild, messy hope against the rising fears.

And last, The Human Heart: The fierce and tender claim Of Family, the whispered, sacred utterance of each name.

My husband’s steady presence, the children strong and bold, The tiny hands that grip mine, a story yet untold.

They are the reason for the strength, the blessing hard-won, The human echo of the Trinity beneath the morning sun.

These three strands are braided tight, one cannot stand alone; My God, my Faith, my Family: the precious bedrock known.

When burdens press upon me, and the structure starts to lean, I cling to where they intersect, and find the space between.