I long; let me see the end.
Why here, why again?
What good is the conflict,
the rift, and the reeling within.
All a blur; our stupor isn’t over.
We don’t choose the shots, this
Cup is a mystery to us.
Just help us taste that you are good.
We know not—
This is it? Is it done?
Our hands are tied; eyes fixed high
Help our hearts bleed joy from the thorn.
Still our chests throb
Slogging through our sludge—of
Resistance to patience,
To prudence, pain, and pride.
Wrestle on. And bless the waiting.
Hold my hand, my brother’s, sister’s, too.
Bleed our dross through our eyes.
Make us whole, more like you,
Like you more for what we’ve been through.
All our questions,
I’ll leave here. Here you go,
Author of the unknown.
Lay to rest our restless dreaming
Spin the world, but still our tossed souls.
Give this an end:
One that’s beautiful, pure.
Prove to us your wisdom,
Your care in every test
So we know and share the fruit
Of Heaven’s Best.