Faith to Follow

Torn by the weight of indecision
The agony of choices not yet made
The restlessness of ambiguity
The ache of wanting to follow but not knowing how
The spirit within welling up and simmering down, repressed yet again
Heart resolute
Body determined
Yet mind confused, in a deep, thick fog.
Hands itching like a junky in detox,
Longing to do something—anything. But What?
“To have faith is to follow”
Like Peter our identity is defined by our call.
But what is your call oh God?
To follow you.
To feed your sheep.
To plead the case of the widow.
To defend the orphan.
To preach your Gospel of life at all times.
To lay down my life, in order to get it back.
To love, even when I am not loved in return.
To give, even when I feel I have nothing.
To press on, even when I do not think I have the strength to stand.
To know and to learn, even when my brain feels as if it will explode.
At all times pressing into you to fulfill my dirth.
To press my hands to the wounds, to call on your name for healing.
To live with Your wisdom, not that which has been taught to me by the movies, books or elders.
To live in the limbo, a constant state of being set apart, when every atom with in me longs, no demands, to be part of the centre.
To not let my mistakes detract or deceive me into believing that they actually have any effect on Your ability to use me.
To focus not on my lack, but on my plenty.
To realize the solid places between the gaps—the fullness not the emptiness.
To no longer define myself on what I hope or wish that he, or she, will think of me.
To not to find my desirability based on the fading warmth of another’s arms.
To cut against the grain that goes deep—even to my core—and to instead follow another pattern, the one that I was created for.
To no longer fear a furrowed brow or reproving glance, but to experience a feeling of fulfillment and, descending on me from above, your beloved.
To hear Your voice in every thought, echoing in my marrow that I am Yours.
And to know within the depth of my being that there is no better place to be.
To be the friend of the child, unmarred and full of joy.
And the friend of the prostitute, broken, hurting and full of a wisdom she wishes wasn't hers to know.
To be with the housewife, battered and bruised and wishing for something more.
To know that to walk away from my nets leads to nowhere less than the cross.
To understand that my friends, my family, my identity are nothing to boast of or to hold me back—but they are yours to begin with.
To know without a doubt that each good thing flows from You
And that you invite me to walk with you
To walk through the mire and the muck in your sure and steady footsteps
Oh Lord, give me strength.
To choose, day after day, hour after hour, to walk your humble path.
To choose the way of the cross--the way of LIFE, good and true.