In these days of humid heat
when it seems the streets could cook eggs—
if not meat—
we need some sort of relief.

In these dogged nights of July
when it seems even a cloudless sky
feels full of choking steam
and the mornings dawn
with lawn-withering sultriness,
we need some sort of relief.

When every turn at work
brings about some new quirk
of yet one more thing
that seems to push us toward
want ads and “Helpful Hints for Building Your Resume”
and a long list grows longer
and strong grows stronger
against the lower rungs,
we need some sort of relief.

And then we leave,
heave a long loud sigh
across the parking lot,
and get into cars that feel like ovens
and we avoid touching anything metal
until the AC has been running
for at least fifteen minutes;
we need some sort of relief.

We need peace,
the sure touch of affirming love,
a greater strength in us
than what is in the world we live in,
a convicting reassurance
that we can do all things,
a power so great
that we can even pray
for those who despitefully use us.

H. Arnett

About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Ark City, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-nine years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-eight grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
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