“Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
tune my heart to sing thy grace;
streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet, sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it, mount of thy redeeming love.”
To sing His grace.
It’s hard, you know, those days you stare at the sky, asking the “why” question over and over again, and your heart is buckling under the hurt, the pain, the raw of fresh emotions threatening to surface.
This grace thing. It’s hard to wrap the mind around.
When you lose one you love, when things don’t go as planned, when you hold yourself to a standard of perfection, when you say something you shouldn’t, when you feel like you’ve let God down.
When your cup overflows with doubts & fears, instead of the joy & peace you’re meant to have.
Wait a second, and I’m supposed to sing You’re grace? How could You expect me to? How can you expect me to? How, why, when You know I can’t carry this weight, this burden, anymore? How …. how ….
In my heart’s breath, there’s hope.
When, Lord? When will I learn to lean on You? And not on myself?
I’m not perfect. I can’t be perfect.
There’s no way.
When, Lord, will I stop trying to grab the pen from You, the Author, to write This Story the way I want it to go? When will I understand that You know what’s best for everyone, and myself?
When will I be able to sing thy grace, in my heart, & my life, and sing it loud for every soul to hear? Like Joshua Eddy? And Kaitlin Boyda? And Mrs. Sieker?
Help me to learn, oh, Lord,
Thy Will be done.