The Forge of My Being

I used to ask “why, Lord?”—I used to burn in my own anger and impatience.

When I learned to trust my Lord, He gave me new understanding,

He gave me peace within my heart and mind,

He turned my sorrow and despair into gladness.

My heart was sick with longing, despaired for lack of hope,

I asked “Have I not been most ardently patient, my God?

Have I not followed your decrees when all my fellows fall?

Why do the wicked increase and I am alone chosen for sorrow?”

I spoke with an unknowing tongue and a mind only a brute beast could fathom.

But His holy word proclaims that delays will only make the heart sick,

and it was with the sickness and heaviness of heart that I did speak.

Have I not, among my fellows, been ardently patient—even to the point of ridicule?

My God be my vindication! Show your power through this weak vessel!

The burning desires of my heart are the fire that forges your patience within me.

Now I look eagerly to the goal, pressing onward toward Your will.

For you have shown me that through the trials, and through the storms of life

You are preparing me; I exult that You have found me worthy for such a calling!

I see now that I have been impatient even in my patience, my longing driving me crazy within.

You have chosen me, called me, and prepared everything I need along the way.

Father, I still need patience, though I only have asked for the grace to bear it a while longer.

Be my refuge! Be my Bastion and hope! I will praise You for the path You have given me,

And I will laugh, and rejoice in the trials, these blessed flames that forge my being.

A Psalm of Weariness

These hands were made to serve; these hands were made to heal.

How can I offer help to others when I am not whole myself, my Lord?

Will they not say to me, “physician, heal thyself”?

I am anguished, not in pain or death, but in sickness of heart,

Because of the longings for which I am patiently waiting.

What good is a map, or a known destination, if one has no means to travel?

What good is a calling if the road is not traversable, if the mountain is unassailable?

What good are gifts I cannot use, like so much scuba gear in the snow?

The wicked scorn me at every turn, the righteous mock me.

Is it truly beneficial to serve the Lord, to keep his covenants?

I have fought, fought, Your precepts to Obey;

Sought, sought, Your words alone to say.

Still I will keep faith, Your words of faith stir my soul and quicken me.

I will press on, to dare that mountain, so unassailable—that road, so treacherous.

I know not what You know, I cannot think what You think.

I will not call out—as dearly as my soul is tempted—call out as clay to the potter.

Be my strength, my courage, my song of resolution in Your will and Your way.

Others see me as old fashioned, or strange, or crazy;

Yet I will be more, so much more if it is Your will for me to be.

I’m going to take those Colours.

I have held fast long enough; I have steadied the line.

We wanted to run at the enemy’s first sight, but we stood firm.

I see his Colours coming over the hill, the Standard marching into view,

And I swear I’ll take them at any cost—I’m going to take those Colours.

My arrows have I laid aside, my bow I have unstrung;

I will not need them on this day, and I know I cannot run.

My Commander nods with His assent, my sword I have now drawn,

bloody red breaks forth the day, it tears my heart asunder.

We cannot fall, and cannot fail—I’m going to take those Colours.

I’ll mow a swathe, though my heart be sad for all my friends who line the path.

Gasping, breaking, hurting still, they weakly grimace as I pass,

I may soon join them, but I still swear—I’ll die with those Colours in my hand.

In my own camp! Amongst our own! Above my very neighbor’s tent!

You say you’re ours, but fly a flag that ought never to be set.

My God and General fights for me, and He will give me strength

My honour to defend, and His glory forth to seek, for a victory no other’s.

I may be simple, I may be meek, but I’m going to take those Colours.