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He loves me knots

He loves me, He loves me not; He loves me, He loves me small; He loves me, He really loves me. Well, maybe. Erm, He might love me. Soz, meant to say, He might love me not.

Like the fickle petals of the flowers In the gardens of our minds, We might vacillate, like Manchester’s weather, Four seasons, all in one day. But our Day One is the constant Son.

The sun is shining, the birds singing, Our hearts are bursting, feet floating, Then the rains comes, summer seems over. We wonder, where the Son’s gone, The clouds of our prayers gathering, We look to the hills, should we keep praying?

He hibernates us, like, bears us, For He has prepared a table in the presence of our wilderness, Like David & Moses, Joseph & Jesus.

The days are shorter, nights are longer, The leaves are falling, it’s getting darker, But we remember joy comes after mourning, morning after night, Like Job, though He slay me, yet will I praise Him.

Spring reawakens the spring in our steps, The days are longer, the nights shorter. We now see the Son is shining, But He has always been. Though the clouds may block our view, He breaks through to remind us, I’ll never leave you, I’ll never leave nor forsake you.

His promises are true, forever settled in blood. Not ours, His. Red makes white. The maths doesn’t add up. But His Spirit subtracts the doubts, multiplies His grace, divides to us faith, hope and love. These 3, the triangle, try His angles, completing the never ending cycle, that tells us though we turn 90° or 180, He remains 360, surrounding us. Reassuring our hearts, that with every petal we pluck, on the strings of love, we hear His voice:

I love you, I love you most, I’m with you, I’m for you more, I know you, but I love you still. I love you, always have, always will. I’m God. My child. Be still. And know. I’m God. You’re not. But I love you. Though.

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