In the sum of my years,
it is the measure of tears and prayers
that seems to carry the greater notion
of what has been my burden:
those times when I find
that it is not within me
to fashion the ends to the means
of the greater good.
In the long hours of darkness,
when the tender tends to harden in me,
I find myself closing off the path to closeness,
consoling myself with the ghosts of loneliness.
I feel my heart wither,
my spirit toughened in a way
that welcomes indifference,
shuns caring, embraces agony.
That is the way of the human
that wrestles me with lies,
taunts and tortures me with reminders
of my own deep failures.
Pangs of disappointment twist the heart,
fangs sink into deeper flesh,
until Grace comes with liberating caress
and Spirit whispers with calming fire,
“Greater is He who is in you,
than he who is in the world.”
I rise in strength not my own,
a strength made perfect in weakness,
unleashed by surrender,
a liberating submission.
This power lies not in my own understanding,
but in the knowledge of His Presence.