Dust

Sometimes
things fall apart.

Like us.
We do.
We crumble.

Made from dust,
it seems that perhaps
we were even made
to fall to pieces.

The things we hold precious
those we hold dear~
sometimes it all seems to be nothing but
dust.

I read this line from Amy Carmichael:
He takes the dust we lay at the foot of the cross.

And at that cross of sacrifice
we find redemption.
And soon after,
resurrection.

May this dust,
this most loved to crumbling life,
be found to be the very dirt
in which hope is born.


At the foot of the cross.