The soil is stony, yet still comes bounty.
A windswept ridge, yet still my bed is dry.
A drought, yet I thrive.
These hard days conspire, yet you have been the wind at my back. Daily you visit, a friend.
Lord, how possibly could I still stand? You steady me, a nurse to the aged.
O gratitude! I am insufficiency made flesh. Yet you stay with me.
Let me not forget.
This seat is where I try to hear you.
This path is the one I walk, to try to reach you.
This field is where I offer my labors to you.
This home, I give over to you.
All is solitary, Lord. The path leads away from the crowd and my rooms are shut tight. Never am I alone even while single.
I seek you, and you draw near to me. How could I deserve such grace?
What is joy, why do I feel it, how shall I spread it?
Daily diligence has brought my footsteps to this place. I stand on hallowed ground, let me remove my sandals.
Yet still I walk, barefoot through the thorns. Trouble visits the lives of the holy; why not me?
My heart swells, Lord, yet it is a murmur. I lean in to hear.
Joy is quiet effort.
What stops me from moving? Headwinds and struggle create action, while comfort imprisons me.
You watch while I try to play. If you step onto the field, what then do I learn?
I was never abandoned, let me see today as I see yesterday.
I sat with fellows around the fire. Goodwill prevailed and I felt at ease. You were there.
I toil at the fence line, digging post holes and tying beams. Industry and satisfaction grip me. Are you not here, too?
Hunger and cold wrap me in their embrace. You stiffen my spine and quicken my feet. I make my own warmth. Look, you are standing next to me!
My constant companion across all seasons. What good news, you are with me always.
I kneel to you behind a closed door. I am in hiding while I pray, for fear that they will judge me. You are my secret, sweet friend.
What if the door were thrown open? What if light shone into my wounds?
Healing is coming, yet I cower under a rock.
Light my world, burn away my secrets, dear Lord.
What gifts have I to give? A story of woe. A selfish pantry. A miserly purse.
My fist is so tightly clenched.
Let new growth unfurl, Lord, that I can no more hold it back.
For now, make me willing to empty my pockets.
Increase and overflow.
Each day, reborn.
Each day, a fresh chance to grow into the one you designed.
A trail of disappointments and squandered opportunities stretches behind me. They lead to this door before me, the one that opens from my room onto the village.
O dark night! O painful memory! Propel me along my rounds. Let me greet all with the newness of the day.
Each day, reborn.
What is harmony? Am I to sing any note and hope for accompaniment?
Or, once the melody is known, are not my tones circumscribed?
Let others sing from center stage, and let me sing these few notes. Let the world look elsewhere and wonder whence the fulsome sound originates.
Your music, Lord, let me make your music.
They came for me in the night. I thought them robbers, sent to harm. They brought rescue.
I do not know what is good for me. I protect what I should trade away, I squander what I will need.
Lord, I am in the belly of a machine. Let me gladly be one gear in a series. Build with me, and let the world function.
Thy will be done.
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