My Life In Word

Give Me Your Darkest Hour

I knelt beneath a moonless sky,
With weary heart and tear-filled eye.
The silence broke—a voice so near,
It spoke with love that conquered fear.

"My child," God said, "why hide from Me?
Why guard the chains that keep you bound?
I've seen the depths you cannot see,
Yet still My grace and love abound."

I bowed my head. "Lord, if You knew
The things I've done, the shame I've grown...
The darkest hour I've stumbled through,
You'd leave me here to walk alone."

He answered softly, "Do you think
Your darkest night outshines My light?
The stars themselves begin to blink,
Yet dawn still follows every night."

"Then give Me," said the Father's voice,
"The hour you fear, the grief you hide.
Release it now; make Heaven's choice.
No longer keep your pain inside."

I whispered, "Lord, it's stained with sin,
With broken dreams and endless blame.
I've locked the door and trapped it in;
I'm far too crushed to speak its name."

He smiled, "I know it's every thread.
Before you breathed, I knew it all.
I bore its weight, its tears, its dread,
So you would never bear its fall."

"Then take it," cried my trembling soul,
"My darkest hour, my deepest scar.
Take every shattered, broken whole,
And heal the places where they are."

He reached with hands once pierced for me,
And every shadow lost its claim.
The prison doors swung wide and free;
Love called me gently by my name.

"Remember this," He softly said,
"When darkness whispers you're alone:
The place where all your hope seemed dead
Became the ground where grace had grown."

Now when the midnight clouds appear,
And sorrow knocks upon my door,
I hear His faithful voice draw near:

"My child, give Me your darkest hour—
I'll fill it with My endless power.
Give Me the night you cannot bear,
And you'll discover I was there.
The cross was built for moments such as these;
Now place your burden down—and rest in Me."

Simona A. Brinson

Photo by James Kovin on Unsplash

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