Wednesday, August 1, 2007

That Which Brings Me To Him



When does it end? When is it over?
This difficulty. This time.
I hear myself echo words that others have spoken.
Broken.
Then reborn.
Fallen.
Then restored.
The time of Gethsemane
is so necessary...
so vital to my life.
But it rips like a knife.
And I cry praise for the changes it tears
in the threads of my fabric,
While complaining of the frayed edges it rears
by the hole left of my now absent flesh.
He has changed me
and I could never go back.
I have been ruined,
for everything else is lack.
He is that thing which enthralls!
That thing which calls.
And it's hardship that carries me there.
It's in the valley where I find His lair.
Yet with the same mouth I grumble
When will it end, I mumble.
As if, without it, I would be where I am...
How can I despise that which brings me to Him?

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