On your mark-
maybe there’s a loving
God, looking closely at
ink smudged pinky against
the page. Help me, help me!!
screamed silent. My eyes start
to tear up as I think of how I want
to slam doors, break a window, run
away because I start to feel the guilt
call: this is your fault! You’re a scaredy cat! You should be taking care of this. He’s always been
faithful to the little baby you are.
I’ve been here before, in this enemy chaos, where my heart
begs for reprieve: God, please can
I have some joy today? Am I allowed to be happy? Is this my fate. And then refrain begins:
He’s always been faithful to me, the Word that promises so. To lift my head.
That when I’m weak, he’s strong.
And this present despair doesn’t separate from His love.
Yet here I sit painting pictures
of Egypt–the anger I know so
well, the fear wanting to burrow
in my soul, the wondering if anyone cares at all. I am a second
guess girl–His silence must mean
I have failed somehow, I deserve
no more–how is it between us?