It is hard when well-worked out beliefs run smack dab into life: this war zone of a broken world where wills collide and battle lines are drawn,
human, angelic, and Godhead.
And I am in the crosshairs, but not afraid—
at least not too much,
my leader is ultimate Lord of all—Lord of this real and reeling universe.
And I believe for others, and
I believe for myself, and
I hang on in trouble
the trouble is bigger that I can carry, and the trouble brims to the top of one so weak,
my belief runs smack dab into my “Lord, I believe; help Thou my unbelief,” and
my perseverance smacks up against my “though you slay me, yet will I praise,” and
there seems to be no life in the clinging words, only desperation.
How can I believe I am not alone, yet feel so alone, crying here in the dark.
If my master is Lord of the universe, and
if my master is love—deeper and purer than any love,
I wander and wonder if He only loves people, but not the me.
Does He only have big cosmic plans for numbers and nations, but not for the me?
When prayers seem to go unanswered, and suffering seems purposeless,
me to hang on.
My belief is more important than my pain, but I live in the pain.
Lord of the faltering and faithless, have mercy.
Lord of the panicked and pained, have mercy.
Lord of all, be the Lord of the me.