Sweating great drops of blood,
Seesawing between fear and torment,
I cup my calling in trembling hands,
And offer it back to You.
It lies in my palms, pale and
Joyless. Dead but alive with anguish
That vibrates in my soul like
Razor wire stretched taut and plucked.
A silent scream ripples
Through my spirit, a wordless plea for
Comfort–some way to let go
Of the barbed thing I’ve become–
And a dark vioce sniggers
Of abandonment and deprivation,
Of tearing away and sorrow,
Of the blood-letting to come.
No place to run or hide.
Can’t live with it, can’t imagine
Myself without it. And
The pain is a living thing.
But I remember You–
You of peaceful plans and future hope,
Lover with undying love–
And cling to Your promise that
You’ll make it work somehow.
But waiting is a writhing process,
So I hope You’ll hurry up
And end this with one quick cut.
Meanwhile, hold me, will You?
Let me feel Your mercy’s tender touch,
Cradle me with compassion,
As I wait for You, my Lord.
Christ in me, the hope of glory.
