Anxiety is a pelting downpour
From which there is no physical shelter.
Turning up my face to the Lord,
Drops sting as though they cut my cheeks,
Not leaving the satisfaction of a scar.
Bending down my head in prayer,
They beat against my skull,
Pushing my face
Closer to the suffocating mud.
What shall I do, Lord?
I cry to You with all my heart-
Deeper down- to the depths
Where my soul must reside.
I fight for You in my thoughts, Lord,
Clinging to the memory of Your promises.
They seem to slip from my grasp,
Ripped away by the forceful downfall which
Offers no mercy of relenting.
I know You will not forsake me
And that Your Hand will not allow this downpour forever,
But I am finding it hard to believe
I shall find rest this side of Heaven.
Perhaps I won't, Dear Lord, and if that's Your Will,
I shall take it.
I fear for my ability to be used
For Your Purposes when every day it seems
All I can manage is mere existence
Paralleling the continual fight
Against this barrage from the enemy.
I desire to model Your love, peace,
Hope, and steadfast lovingkindness
To those around me,
Particularly my children, Father.
My flesh is far too weak.
Please fill me with Your Spirit, Jesus,
That I may live abundantly as You promise.
My prayer is of the Bible, Father:
I believe; please help me in my unbelief.
In Christ's Name, Amen.