The crabgrass creeps in,
weeds reach high toward sun rays,
across the full length of what’s meant to be a flower bed.
They seek to overshadow every bloom and cover every inch.
But beauty reaches higher.
Abiding, abiding.
And I think of my own heart weeds.
The ones that try to prowl upon my soul,
telling stories of unbelief, loneliness,
and a God who forgets his promises.
But I believe
beauty reaches higher,
by the grace of God alone.
Pointing me to the Son.
Abiding evermore.
