I'm tired and then the prayers stick in my throat,
for all His gifts I feel small gratitude,
it seems my sodden bark can barely float.
I brood and feel like God broods on me too,
I cannot deem Him glad with all my sin,
I dread our needed spiritual rendezvous,
I doubt He'll solve the pickle that I'm in.
Between a rock and hard place I feel trapped,
I do not want to look Him in the face,
I strain to find some avenue untapped,
can He surprise me with some easy grace?
Yet my soul worn from fighting this dark night
will sense His presence with the dawning light.
-- by Pete Voelz 8/05
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