It always comes. The valley of the shadow follows the mountain. The struggle intensifies and the road becomes hard but you are with me.

The lessons from high are lived out in the depths, and the ache to be faithful overcomes the ache to give-up. You comfort me.

You gather the shards of the shattered in your pierced hands. Jagged edges and razorblades mar your flesh, still your grip tightens. You press in, never letting go. You restore my soul, for your namesake.

Piece by devastated piece you build something new. Something that never would have been without the broken, without the wounds that burrow even deeper into You. You prepare something good for me. 

Each splinter epitomizes your love, your mercy, your promise to restore. And the broken becomes beautiful.

My cup overflows. You are my shepherd. I shall not want.