The morning sun rises,
with plans for a new day.
Reasonable plans, plans to write, to work, to straighten up that which has gone askew in the past week.

God had other plans. Two hours into the plan, the road I thought was ahead took a turn, unexpected only to me.

Rather than production,
God demands reflection.
Rather than thoughts running a mile a minute,
the turn in the road results in a fog so that only one thought can live at a time.

And that thought, recurring every so often is this:
“Do you trust Me?”

In the fog of painkillers cloudy any ability to produce any thing on my own, He has me trapped. He has me in His gentle, all-loving sights. And He wants me to answer His question.

Throbbing pain and all, He asks the question meant to heal my heart.

What is He asking you?

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