fret

so i hear the gossip,
or the lie,
or know the grief of stolen loss.

then i fret
and stew:

"how COULD he?"
"why WOULD she?"
"how could i have prevented. . ."
"how can i protect. . ."

my thoughts an endless
downward
spiral.

empty conjectures.
loveless fears.

"do not fret because of evildoers."
the words of my loving Father intervene,
and because of the noise
in my soul,
he repeats.

then he repeats again,
until he has my attention,
and i try to obey.

grieve over wrong,
over loss,
over hurt.

don't fret about the wrong-doer,
the hurtful one.
o, my soul, trust in the almighty love
of your Creator and Father.

he will work all for good
to those who love him.