Incongruent

Papa, the glory of the trees seems incongruent with the grief of my days.  And yet you are the God of both and my head knows that you are good in all of it.  Grant me the grace today, to be sure of what I hope for and certain of what I do not see.  And may I find my glory not in the finite plans I make, nor the fickle reality that is right now, but in the knowing of my infinite, glorious, unfathomable God.