How long?
How many more days do I have to cry bitterly
asking you how long?
My heart is sick
my hope is deferred
my heart hopes
for what I can’t conjure.
How long must I try to find a quiet
place to get away from the constant
strain of this yoke pulling me one way
when I’m trying to follow you another?
I am your lily among thorns
torn and worn
weary
still
reaching
for a place that doesn’t hurt.
How long?
How long do I have to wait
for him my love to requite?
What if it’s eighty years?
What if it’s tomorrow?
What if I die in this sorrow?
Only one I know
that can make love
out of death grow.
And that’s you Lord
Nail scarred, hands and feet,
standing in the strength of
death’s defeat- My Lord!
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Published by Sheila Dougal
Hey, I'm Sheila, glad you're here.
A little about me: I'm a 40-something woman, wife, mom, RN, soap maker and wannabe suburban homesteader. I think better when I write. I've kept a journal since I was 9 and started blogging 10 years ago. I'm introverted, but I love people. I'm curious but shy. I'm contemplative and easily distracted. I feel deeply and know numbness. I want to make things right and I'm learning to let go. I wax poetic sometimes and often don't know what to say. It's complicated. It boggles me that I am Christ's and he is mine. I gaze into the heavens and the Heaven-Maker's words, remember the hard things, fight depression, and long for home and King. I'm sojourning.
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