Oh won't You come and help me
grapple with my feelings
when disappointment rattles over me
carriage by endless carriage
and I choke so hard on
wasted, wasted, wasted opportunities …
When slight inadvertencies
have changed my whole
and self-reproach
floods my shallow confidence,
where is the One who never changes,
Rock, Anchor, my higher ground?

If I didn't know that You never
stretch the thread beyond its limit,
I couldn't go on
If I didn't know that You never
withhold the oxygen too long,
I couldn't go on
If I didn't know that all things somehow,
like corks being pressed under water,
pop up again to the surface of
spiritual gain,
I couldn't
go on.

If I knew
this was Your work –
not my failure,
in spite of my failure –
if I believed it,
I could
bow down;

I do not know,
I believe
(choose to)
I can
bow down
and praise.