The God of miracles
wraps me in a blanket of stars,
tucks me goodnight,
stirs me with a kiss of breeze,
and the promise of morning.
His unfailing love opens my eyes.
The ache of sleeping so close to the ground,
myself being made of dust,
presses in my side.
But yet I rise because He rose.
He’s the rock on which I climb.
I so often forget that He will hold.
There’s no other place
I’d rather be.