God, my parched heart cries out to You from the desert land,
Soaking up every dewdrop of joy that is left by Your Spirit.
Forty-nine days and counting,
Sustained only by the promise of Your presence.
The heat bears down, oppressive, choking me all around and waging war between my body and spirit,
A war to which my body’s most instinctive response is to flee back to the fictitious safety of the place You’re rescuing me from,
A place where I would be content to remain the same — unchanged, untouched, unhealed, stagnant — if it meant that my deepest desires might be superficially satisfied.
But I have tasted Your goodness:
The clouds that roll in to hide the sun,
Striking my face with winds of relief and hope,
Lifting my soul from its depths,
Leaving just enough moisture --
No more, no less --
On the ground to sustain me until the next wave of shade and peace.
This perfect amount of satiation keeps me trudging forward,
Even after the clouds of Your goodness and the winds of relief and hope have departed from me,
Subjecting me once more to the sun’s overbearing heat.
Yet through this furnace You are purifying my soul — changing me, touching me, healing me, reviving me —,
Bringing up impurities so deeply bound in me as a person that they could only be melted away by this white-hot blaze I find myself engulfed in.
And because I have tasted the goodness of Your glory and presence I persist,
Convinced that it will be more than worth it to --
After trudging through the desert land one step at a time,
Sustained by just enough to press on until my next taste of Your joy --
Lift my golden mane up to the sky and soak in the torrential downpour You will send,
The next glory You have prepared for me.
I have not been a good disciple.
I have not hagah-ed over Your Word as is expected of me.
I have allowed myself to become so busy that I fail to prioritize You.
I have failed to seek You out above else,
Failed to turn to You for advice instead of to the world.
I search in the world, though I know that all it takes for me to be free is surrender.
And still I have held tightly to my own ambition, loosing my grip on discipleship and relationship with You in order to grasp stronger the things that I think will satisfy.
I am not worthy to call myself Your disciple.
Yet by name You call me, Your disciple.
And now I choose to let go, to loose my grip on the world to pursue and clench in my hands that which is far more satisfying and everlasting.
I surrender to You everything for which I’ve searched in the world — may the weight of my worry rise from the shoulders that bore it.
I choose once again to seek You out above all else, and You welcome me back gladly.
You still see me as a sheep without blemish.
You do not see me as anything less than the Lion that You created me to be.
You love me in my unfaithfulness.
You've instilled in me a fighting spirit, Oh Lord,
One that requires more than to just sit idly by.
I long to be in the forefront of Your army,
And fight even if I die.
This lion is roaring, roaring, roaring,
Begging to be cut loose,
And craving to pursue that battle, Lord,
Which will not end in a truce.
For with Your strength and power we will overcome it all,
And watch with gladness in our hearts as Babylon takes her fall.
I want to save Your people, Lord,
To save them from themselves,
Just as You once saved my heart,
You saved me from myself.
And now I ask , I beg of You,
Please show me what do to.
How do I manage this spirit, Lord,
That craves wild and adventure so?
For what purpose have You bestowed this unto me,
a lion fervently chasing a doe?
"Lie down and rest and walk with Me, my child,"
You spoke to me so softly.
"Your time will come if you wait a while,
You needn't be so haughty."
"Lie down beneath the tree and skirt the sun's overbearing heat,
Let Satan run and prepare Himself for a sound defeat."
"Meanwhile just put your trust in Me,
And remember that it was I
Who saw you fit to be this way
And made you as my lion."