I wake, lie still.
I look into myself, watching, feeling.
Has sleep done me good? Washed away the tears
and torture of last night?
No, for I am as disquiet and depressed as
I was coming home last night from that
youth party that sullied my heart.
I want to sleep again, but I remember
my duties, my coming chores.
I get out of bed.
Two hours later, I wish I hadn't.
My morning has gone downhill,
my stresses piling up into a mountain.
I rush, my heart squeezed into an unforgiving ball.
Brief respite I find at work, but when
my parents come late, again it crushes me.
I waste an hour on a task I did wrong.
Another rock is tied to my heart.
I know I haven't spent time with my King,
my Prince of Peace, but still I press on
to complete a task.
And then I give up, collapse on the bed.
My heart is anguished enough to want
to shed tears, but not enough to
actually summon their relieving moisture.
I breath deep, quoting Philippians 4:7
to cover my heart in peace.
Well I know the beauty of that verse.
I cry to my King, my Prince of Peace,
and my mountain....
The rocks flee, the darkness is banished
as MY GOD COMES.
I sigh with thanksgiving, open the pages
of that glorious Book to the words
of my ancient brother.
"Truly my soul finds rest in God..."
Ah, yes, brother David, how true ring those words.
I soak in Scripture as my heart rests,
as my soul finds peace, as my mind quiets.
I smile, my heart pouring thanks.
I pick up my pen. Now, brother David,
I will join you in worship.