The Stream

There is a crooked stream,
running quiet and still,
just half a mile,
over that hill.
One day last fall,
there was a big rain,
that old stream was raging,
a rage no man could tame.
It roared and rushed,
took houses and land,
where ever it went,
 it obeyed no command.
Sometimes our life,
is like that stream,
all peaceful and calm,
then comes trials,
that explode like a bomb.
We have a place,
where we can go,
to our Heavenly Father,
who by His loving hand,
soothes and calms,
that raging stream,
with one command,
it obeys His will,
as He speaks,
Peace be still.
--Winston Staples--