I work, my hands tire.
I work, my body wants to stop.
I work, my eyes begin to close.
I work, my mind is confused.
Do my works make a difference?
It feels as if it's so.
I work more, the tears begin to flow.
I work more, I must sleep.
I work more, all other things fall behind.
I work more, nothing makes sense.
Do my works make a difference?
I don't want to admit they don't.
I work more still, the list grows.
I work more still, pushing through.
I work more still, somehow we're close.
I work more still, living in chaos.
Do my works make a difference?
I'm beginning to doubt.
I don't want to learn what you're teaching me.
I resist at every turn.
I close my eyes, cross my arms and refuse to move.
It's not fair.
Why does the simple do the most good?
Why doesn't my constant motion speed a miracle?
Why don't my blood, sweat and tears force your hand?
I hear you saying stop.
I hear you saying rest.
I hear you saying praise.
I hear you saying smile and laugh.
It seems unnatural. Not productive.
Surely forced anguish and mounting stress accomplish more.
You speak peace. You speak peace through the noise.
Open my ears. Force me to hear.
Break my will.
I can't admit that I'm not enough.
I'm tired. Desperate.
2 comments:
Oh Erika, how this resonates. I am busy, busy, busy just for the sole purpose of not being still. I can't even say I'm getting much accomplished other than the busyness blocking my entrance into God's lap. But...our God hears the hearts cry, and will love us to the place that we can hear His hearts cry.
Thank you for putting your heart to words. I am one that appreciates that much. Keep writing, my friend.
Huh? What? Is that you, Lord? Of course it is!!!!!!!!!!
Thanks,Erika, for allowing God to speak to us through your talent of writing.
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