Fingers open, outstretched in supplication’s posture
Leave the hope in offering cords
Suspended above desire or will.
Moments of unknowing frequent
This heart’s tremulous offering, but
Faith requires all devotion girded by
Action, sustained in utter surrender—all that I am.
Maybe, maybe, this will be a season’s unfolding
Or yet another unraveling, dross burning away
In denial’s fire at the altar called “His will.”
Wait, Child. Love all requires of you, and know
It may be given away or slain in a moment’s breath—
The knowing is not near enough yet to see.
Open hands, rest the full heart in eternity’s side;
For supplication nothing else could sustain.
What He dictates deviates not from paths of
Goodness and mercy, guarding from devious
Entanglements laid from around and within.
Wisdom veils her bright eyes, time presses, breathes
Heavily in moments full of maybe’s coy smirks.
When shall the two intersect? Here, now, not yet, never?
“Peace. Be still. Oh, you of little faith!
Love’s scarred hands withhold no good thing from His own.”
Decisions made in coffee mugs bear out providence
Breaking indecision and unknowing—soon, soon.
Fatherlove incises with wisdom’s knife,
Humility wakes and tremblingly trusts;
Surrender’s cause righteousness supports
And quietness follows in strength.
Confidence falters in man’s court;
But transcendent principles make strong
Hearts’ quaking hesitancy.
Unknowing sometimes is the unbeing of pride
Grace will follow here as well.
“All shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”
