Mark 9:24b “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!”
The spiritual disciplines we have discussed this week are often difficult to implement into our daily lives. Here is an excerpt of a poem that addresses the hardship of trusting God. Friends, please remember, God loves us, He knows us, and He remains faithful when we are not.
Please read the poem and be reminded of God’s relentless pursuit of you.
“Staying Power” by Jeanne Murray Walker
I sometimes follow my doubts
outside to the yard and question the sky,
longing to have the fight settled, thinking
I can't go on like this, and finally I say
all right, it is improbable, all right, there
is no God. And then as if I'm focusing
a magnifying glass on dry leaves, God blazes up.
It's the attention, maybe, to what isn't there
that makes the emptiness flare like a forest fire
until I have to spend the afternoon dragging
the hose to put the smoldering thing out.
Even on an ordinary day when a friend calls,
tells me they've found melanoma,
complains that the hospital is cold, I say God.
God, I say as my heart turns inside out.
Pick up any language by the scruff of its neck,
wipe its face, set it down on the lawn,
and I bet it will toddle right into the godfire
again, which—though they say it doesn't
exist—can send you straight to the burn unit.
Oh, we have only so many words to think with.
Say God's not fire, say anything, say God's
a phone, maybe. You know you didn't order a phone,
but there it is. It rings. You don't know who it could be.
You don't want to talk, so you pull out
the plug. It rings. You smash it with a hammer
til it bleeds springs and coils and clobbery
metal bits. It rings again. You pick it up
and a voice you love whispers hello.