what i have offered, Savior of mine,
times without number,
into Your same hands.
yes, for You are my Savior,
and not another,
my own, suited in infinite love,
to my need.
the answering balm for every windblown weariness,
rehearsed and draggled and tired,
the depth of which, only Your eyes can see.
these days, crowded with endless strugglings
which appear as nothing to the outside eye.
cares whining and soft, coming in droves, tolling to fill up every day.
and take in hand
these things that You were earth-born to see.
for to who else shall i go?
Who could be earth-hurled and forgotten and laid down as You?
Who else like Yourself,
has been tired and worn,
sacrificed and offered up,
even acquainted with grief
for my sake?
who else could take what i give to You now,
and weave an unfading crown?
and receive, petitions worn with asking,
rising with each morning’s need.
let Your manger-born tenderness,
assuage the worried ruin,
that lies along the banks of all the silent, sun-bleached days
that i see.
My own Savior.
how long have i rested in Your hands,
that You do not break the splintered reed,
You take trouble, and make it into glory.
bending low, in tender infinitude
You do not quench,
the smoldering wick of this heart.
rise and do,
what You have always done for me.
in my struggling, beget peace,
for my futility, exchange timeless meaning.
with Your raised, speaking hands.
let heartbreak and dross,
burn like blazoned jewels,
in Your furnace where You fire and meld,
the crowns of saints, waiting- unseen.
with Your lobed whisper,
curled like pearl,
that i struggle, and strive and live
according to plan.
measuring and flawless,
You calculate, You speak, You lead, You draw,
the unfolding, perfect lines of Your purpose
and You are not afraid.
“Even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save.” ~ Isaiah 46:4