This Testing Place

This place that we pass through

Is fleeting as the day

This place where Truth and lies compete

This place of come-what-may

This place of birth-to-death-to-God

Of love and hatred’s grief

Of fecklessness where fool’s applaud

A hopeless unbelief

This place where so few seem to seek

Treasures, apart from Self

This place where every word we speak

Is written Somewhere Else

This place of grace, of slip and fall

Of get-up-try-again

This place where anyone can call

To God who understands

This place of dirt, hurt, toil and groan

Is grave as grave can be

For it is but a steppingstone

Into Eternity

© Janet Martin

 But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.

Isa.53:5