My heart is bitter
And I don't know why, when
You've given me a thousand reasons to glorify.
Do I expect perfection in people just like me?
Do I really want to be the cause of praise and envy?
Jesus, You heal.
Don't let my sin steal
what little time I have here,
the little time I have to give.
What if there's 10 talents
in the bag on my back.
What if I've only ever given 2 or 3 back?
Jesus, please heal, and
if I reel, let it be
from awe of You, from love of You,
not from pity poor solace of sin.
If I never read the good Book,
how will I know where to look?
The Atlantic, Sun Times, the Washington Post?
How will I know when I'm guessing at most?
How will I know when I've had real growth?
That there are things more important than dollars and gold?
How will I know anything?
Trust angry people in media?
Trust print, posts, tweets, or what's easiest?
Trust in comfort, trust in money?
Just put my head down and keep running?
Feel the whip, apologize, support the lazy who hate the wise?
Then there's You.
The One like no other.
You'll sort it out, bring justice.
And in the waiting, You'll wrap us
in peace, in quiet power, in real love.
We'll grow like the slow oak tree
by a stream of water
even as it gets hotter
and angry eyes increase.
I know I don't get it.
The patience in the face of evil.
How good must Good be then?
If Your perfect plan included Your own suffering
what is there then to run from?
I give up control.
Not to the abuser, but to the Creator.
An active Love, not just a feeling.
He brings the healing.
So don't let me
stand in the way.