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The Wound

by Geneva Poynter
A tender young tree grew by a beautiful stream.
It would surely do quite well there, it would seem.
The trunk grew straight and strong in the wind.
Its branches and leaves would wave and bend.
Then someone came walking by that bank
Wielding a sharp ax which he heavily sank
Into that young tree, in all its splendor.
The ax stuck tight and the tree did render
Sap to run and bind and help heal that wound.
The tree grew as if the ax had only pruned.

It grew around the ax head 'til all one could see...
The top of the ax sticking out of the tree.
The sharp blade was still right there inside;
Its wound, evidently, the tree could not hide.
Through years of growing, try as it would,
It couldn't grow normally like a young tree should.
It gave shade each Spring, pretty leaves each Fall;
Still something was not quite right there after all.
Though it began with a healthy, smooth trunk,
Now it was lumpy, crooked, and looked like junk.

The young girl grew in such an idyllic setting.
She'd do well with the care she'd be getting.
She was loved, always taken to church.
She began to grow well just like that birch.
Something happened that hurt like the ax
Which stayed buried so deeply, the hidden facts,
'Til it all came boiling to the surface.
She'd tried to heal herself just like that tree,
The ax still inside where healing should be.
She felt all 'lumpy', 'crooked' and wanted to flee

When finally, she admitted the hurt was there
She found God was waiting, her life to repair.
He didn't change what happened in the past;
He gave perfect love, healing that will last.
She gave Him anger and frustration.
He gave her His peace, a new application
Of healing balm which only He can give.
She was sure then - His grace always would live
Inside, helping forgive wrongs of the past,
With life anew 'cause His joy will really last!

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Copyright © 2003 by Geneva Poynter. All rights reserved.