Endless Grace by Ryan Whitaker Smith and Dan Wiltনমুনা

Psalm 77

I Remember

Father,

there are times when I fear

my voice is not

loud enough,

bold enough,

true enough

to be heard by You,

the God Who Listens.

Though I have courage,

faith,

breath,

intention—

joy escapes me.

In its absence

I am weak—

heart-heavy,

soul-starved—

yearning for a peace

only You can bring.

Restless,

I labor through the night,

pricked in spirit,

plagued by worry.

In these long hours,

this insufferable silence,

I lose sight of all that is

good

and beautiful

and true.

No comfort comes.

No solace descends.

Like You,

I am,

for the moment,

speechless.

Memories haunt me:

spectral visions of past consolations,

as evasive as the peace that eludes me.

I dig in the dirt,

searching for some forgotten truth

buried in sod and stone.

Once,

when I was weak,

did You not feed me with Your Word?

When my love was cold,

my desires disordered,

did You not brood over the chaos of my life?

I cling to faith:

a tenuous thread.

Have You forgotten me?

Have Your mercies come to an end?

Your promises come to nothing?

Who am I

to make demands of You?

To call You to account?

Remember,

O my soul,

the glory of the Lord.

That which I have seen,

I will see again.

I will walk once more

in the favor of God,

the blessing of God,

the power of God.

Who is like You, Lord?

Holy.

True.

Light undiminished.

Grace unabridged.

My heart was a locked room,

but You found Your way in.

I have touched Your scars,

seen Your face.

Will I not see You again?

Remember,

O my soul,

the glory of the Lord.

Your power shakes mountains.

Parts seas.

Cuts covenants.

Makes a way.

At Your coming,

oceans rush

and roar,

skies bellow,

clouds spill rain;

all creation groans.

And so I wait,

as covenant people do—

for a cloud by day,

fire by night:

the leading of Your Spirit.

Amen.