My God, it is just as these
well-worn verses have said.
It is a dry and barren land, but
this is exactly where you want me.
So I am home.
If you are with me, who then do I have to
fear?
And still I fear.
I am selfish, penning the second
psalms as I cry at the bottom of a self-dug
pit. "Mercy" is my cry. Mercy.
It is the one thing I have to cling to
as those thoughts come again. And even so,
even though I am dwelling in your house
forever, I quickly forget
it is you who saves.
Move through this broken child, tape
me back and dance though my
thoughts, haunt my words, push
the hair back from my eyes and let
me crawl back to where I belong:
inside Your hand, curled up asleep,
awaiting the next battle
and dreaming of eternity.
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