Saturday, February 6, 2016



The Cry of the Why

"My God, my God,
Why hast Thou forsaken me?
He said it,
felt it,
cried it.
To be honest,
So have I.
This bed upon
which I lie,
Is no cross,
but there are places
that are hard
with no soft pillow,
and lonely,
though it would
be worth it if
I knew I could
 be alone
with the One
whom I crave.
It is not just the being
But the Why?
The cry of the why.

We want it to make sense.
To have significance,
this pain.
Even glorify
this suffering,
not just rectify
my hurt
my pain.

Can I trust?
If so,
I can wait,
If I know
that You are coming
to kiss my hurts,
and make it better.
I cry by day...
by night...
 have no rest.
Can you hear?

 Thou art still holy.
 Thou art enthroned
upon praises.
I must remember,
They trusted,
Thou delivered.
They were not
So I commit
to wait.

Please don't hide
Your face.
Rescue me.
Do You truly
delight in me?
It will be told
to the coming
after I am dust,
You have not
for-sake-n me
for my sake,
Were forsaken.
And the why,
was for me.

So sit
upon my praise,
Thou who art holy,
On your throne.
My discomfort
is comforted
by who You are
and where You are
and that You
hear, know, see
insignificant me
in the why.

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