There is a push to pain of sorts

Unlike the thoughts of man

Doors of new beginnings grace

Where valleys of trouble land.

One would want just to forget

And Christ has heard your cry

Yet, it’s the deepest pain of heart

That helps the saint to rise.

The push is like a mother bird

An eagle and her young

If the birds gets comfortable

She pulls the feathered rug.

For when it’s time to fly indeed

A push is what it takes

For every baby bird would choose

To nest with Mother safe.

So thank the Lord for pain dear child

It’s pushing you soon high

Higher than you’ve ever been

Into the plans of Christ.