The Forge of Mercy: a Psalm of the Bride

I am drawn out like hammered, heated, glowing steel,

Laid upon the anvil of life as warmth from furnace seeps,

Spreading as beaten beating begins new forms of being.

At my core, softest iron — heart kept in merciful compassion.

Carbon-edged, cutting steel honed to razor’s perfection,

Theology lived and tempered, thermal cycles before the quench.

Fire within and without, the furnace of flesh refined by Father,

Chosen, shaped by the Blacksmith’s hand in beautiful brokenness.

Blades — Sword of Spirit — sharpened within the vessel’s sheath.

Layered artisanal steel, patterned in unique presence polished ways,

Grains fused fine, many-colored as rainbow light,

Pristine finish, then hidden beneath grimy guises of protection.

Purpose in calling, the draft already drawn:

The Army of Christ rising as the Sealed,

The Sealed as weapons sheathed for mercy.

Now we stand,

Quenched,

Honed,

Awaiting orders.

As always, from Dust,

To you,

For you,

From Him,

In me.

If you recognized the refiners fire in your life or another’s please help me spread the temper with a share.