I covered my eyes so that I wouldn't see, Tried to deny that He whispered to me. But had I not seen Him at all... Been secure with that unyielding wall... I still would have felt the call. His hand reached patiently for mine, One endless inch at a time, And though I'd been going slowly insane, Filled with remorse, anger and shame, I knew from then on I'd be changed. Mercy flowed from the palm of His hand And words, like fingers wrapped around sand Faltered, and finally evaded me As His love shimmered forth like the sun on the sea, And at last I was finally free...free. I thought I had seen it all Felt all there was to feel But now, here I am, after the call And I see it had never been real. His peace, like a mantle, enrobed my soul. Until that point I had never been whole, But all my desires and all my wishes And even my will, are surrendered to His I've been given a glimpse of what life really is... Now His love and His peace are like air to me Forgiveness is life as it should be And when I grow weary, restless and tired, He lifts me up and I'm newly inspired, And all this is living...the grace and the giving... after the call. |
After the Call |
Copyright 2001 Dana Pratola |
The Backslider Help me, Father, for the soil is shifting beneath my feet... The ground becomes murky, less defined, And tips gently, at first, so that I'm unsure of my footing. A cloud of my own choosing descends on me And I'm uncertain of my surroundings. No one sees - or they pretend not to. No one offers a hand, only a shove. No one but You, Lord. My palms are muddied, my knees scraped raw As I fight against the slope Fatigue joins the forces already against me They want me to slide silently, but I cry out to You Thank You, Father, for the soil is shifting beneath my feet... It's solid once again; green grass is sprouting up. Power returns with each stride I make. My vision is clear and my direction sure.. And I can see those who couldn't, or wouldn't see me, As the boggy ground sucks at their feet, And I can offer them a hand and lead them to You. |
Copyright 2001 Dana Pratola |