Loathe I to meet Him with tears this morning
He, who calls me by name
Fashioned me according to His purpose,
In His image
Loathe I to question His plan –
To critique the stroke of His brush against canvas
To raise my eyebrows at His choice of words
As He tells my story
Loathe I to deny Him due praise
To forget all His benefits
To trust His plan – much higher than mine
To render futile His workmanship
Loathe I to look across the threshold and wish
Despise my path and covet the next
Rely on my strength – which is truly weakness
Trade His joy for ashes and sackcloth
Loathe I to see His scars and forget
His divine sacrifice and the completion
Scatter the price of his salvation and redemption
Offering tears and hopelessness
Offering fear and anguish
But His gift is not fear; not timidity
But power, LOVE, a sound and controlled mind.
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