I try and try to change my life
because I feel such inner strife.
There’s discord ‘tween body and soul
that keeps me from reaching the goal.

My mind says yes; my flesh says no.
Without true strength I’ll never grow.
I need some help from higher pow’r:
God! Please be merciful this hour.

In the midst of a vicious, windy sea
On a small boat trying to get to land,
It’s natural to proclaim “woe is me!”
Because you wonder if you can withstand.

But imagine if, with that same thinking,
You knew you had an invincible boat;
Incapable of all forms of sinking,
No matter the beating you’d stay afloat.

This is how it is with our lives on earth:
Gods sends many winds but they’re to our backs,
And he gave us our vessel with Christ birth
Blessing us with glue to repair all cracks.

We should be thankful for storms every day -
They’ll get us to land quicker in God’s way.

A vast expanse of unreachable souls,
Each ignorant of their daily impact,
And all pursuing hedonistic goals,
Will guarantee constantly selfish acts.

With such an innumerable legion
Of invariably foolish masses,
Could even a wise, master strategian
Upgrade the whole group’s moral compass?

Can one person really make a diff’rence,
And what’s the permanence of perceived change?
Should we have an attitude of suff’rance,
Or actively subdue those who derange?

Regardless of the strength of your power,
You ought to strive to do good ev’ry hour.

Where’s the edge of what’s possible and not?
How much weight can one person bear alone?
These are questions I ask myself a lot.
I wonder if the answer’s even known.

People say “You’re crazy with that high mark.
What you’re thinking is not realistic.”
Should I view these words as an extra spark,
Or is that overly optimistic?

Who’s to say what the limits are for me,
And if I can or can’t do something great?
Only time can tell me to what degree,
I should have spent more time to cogitate

On the implications of these subjects,
And the lifelong value of their effects.

There’s a certain darkness and blue heartbreak,
Ever creeping and crowding the feeling;
Like a perpetual, incessant ache,
Only starting to begin its healing.

Toleration of the black does little,
To invigorate the depressed spirit;
People say, “Peace is really quite simple”,
But rarely have they ever been through it.

And though life can seem like an unfair crime,
Through the emotionally scarring cries,
There’s always one compelling truth sublime:
The diligent sun never fails to rise.

Having hope in healing sunshine ahead,
Can help to dissipate much of the dread.

There’s the story of the old violin,
Badly beaten and bruised throughout the years,
Viewed as a completely destroyed has-been,
Expected as an assault on the ears.

Worth not even a penny at auction,
Until a musician played a sweet piece,
And touched everyone’s hearts by the action,
Raising its value to the Golden Fleece.

So too does the Great Jesus know your worth,
When you think yourself a poor, broken soul.
Indeed, this is the reason for His birth:
To deliver you from Satan’s bleak hole.

Look through the lens of our dear Savior’s love,
To feel closer to that heaven above.

My sweet tender wife whom I dearly love,
Ever strives to keep me on the fine path,
And surely merits favor from above,
For the restraint of her infrequent wrath.

Dealing daily with my incompetence,
Which oft is egregious and deplorable,
Her aptitude for patience quite immense,
And altogether truly laudable.

She deserves to be constantly pining,
And with her silence speaks unspoken words,
That shows her spirit is ever shining,
As light and graceful as the songs of birds.

Where would I be without my companion?
Look for my soul in a dour canyon.