Through It All.

A pack of forty strokes,
Stripped naked,
Chains tearing his flesh apart,
Public humiliation and mockery,
Denial by His own,
Three-times fall with cross on his back,
And in between two thieves crucified,
And through it all,
In Thy Holy hands His soul he committed,
Persevered that immense pain,
All for our gain,
Never was His persecution in vain,
Though He felt forsaken by His Father,
"Elohi Elohi ramashabakithani,"
With pain He cried,
Never did He forsake His Father,
Through it all, the tomb couldn't contain Him.

Born in a complete family,
Raised in a single parent family,
Not by will or choice but circumstantial,
Ailing with no medication yet a lady doctor can't treat you with a 300 deficit,
Tears run dry as pain flood,
Unlike the widow of Zeraphath,
Neither little oil and floor we have not,
And for our death to take us home in our Sleep we wait,
Stomach rumbling louder than the crowing cocks,
Yet through it all we know that,
He is the Father of the fatherless.

Just yesterday she was pushed out of class when exams are due,
A balance of 2500 she couldn't settle,
But again she knew,
That He has great plans for her,
Like Elijah after the Mt. Carmel contest she walks out confidently,
Her God's not dead,
Through it all by our side He lives,
Against every principality He fights to conquer not retreat,
When it feels over,
It has all just begun.

Ruthsellah