When I have doubt that God is near to me,
And plunged to blindness, flail about for peace,
And find my grasp is weak, and the increase
Of sleepless evenings weighs down heavily,
“It’s better, Lord,” I hear my cracked heart cry,
“That I were dead, and made more perfect now;
This burden You assigned is great, and how
Shall I survive? Oh, rather, let me die.”
But Peace, to counteract my guilt, replies:
“Daughter, your fear, your doubt has made you sleep.
Now open up your fists; wake up to hope.
Love loved you first, and you cannot surmise
How greatly you are treasured. Do not keep
Your grip; let go. And God will take the yoke.”