My arms are reaching out; my eyes are wet.
If I but had a repertoire replete
with healing words of comfort, could I meet
your loss and cancel out the heavy debt
of anguish? From the chasm of regret,
my heart goes rushing out on stumbling feet
to offer something tangible and sweet.
I can’t. I haven’t walked that valley yet.
But there is One who’s equal to the task.
He knows each upturned pebble on the trail,
just like the back of His own blood-soaked hands
that purchased every tear. Because you ask,
He’ll guide you through the Valley of Travail,
or carry you. He can. He understands.
2000 Mary Boren