The Battle for Belief
At crossroads, I do find myself
Unable to his will perceive.
As if upon too high a shelf
There lies my power to believe.
I reach, but fall, and fail to trust;
I doubt the Lord of love and light.
With downcast eyes, observe the dust,
Despairing in his sov’reign might.
“You fool,” I speak to mirror’s man,
“You dare distrust the faithful Son?
Look back and see and hope again,
For Father’s will is always done.
You wrestle hard against the flesh;
Your spirit wants but is too weak.
His Spirit, soon, will yours refresh
As you his greatest glory seek.”
In sickness and humility,
I fall before the throne of grace.
With Scripture’s verdict, I agree:
I am not finished with the race.
So, though with blindness, lameness, loss
Should I be stricken on the road,
I choose to think upon the cross,
That Christ has born the greater load.
By grace, and grace alone, I stand.
My death has died upon the tree.
And I now rest in holy hand
Wholly alive and wholly free.