The End of My Rope

It's been weeks since I've felt caught up on sleep.

Nearly a month since I've written in my journal.

More than a month since I've really read a book.

Days since I've had a good hour to dig into the Word.

~~~~~~~

It's been a while since I've felt in control.

On top of my happening life.

Ahead enough to plan for new things.

~~~~~~~

Most days I feel like I barely keep my head above water.

Like it's a struggle just to stay current with day-to-day events.

Then taxes loom in front of me.

And expenses descend upon me.

And my room's a mess.

And there are emails unwritten.

And phone calls unmade.

~~~~~~~

My spirit begins to cry out in thirst for true Water.

And my soul begins to shrivel in the cold.

And my temper's suddenly short and brittle.

And in desperation, I finally throw myself at Your feet.

~~~~~~~

Ignoring the thousands of chiming voices -

The hundreds of chores and to-dos yet undone.

The clamor grows louder, but I know, yes, I know.

First things not put first only grow desperate cries.

~~~~~~~

I'm at the end of my rope.

With naught but a frayed strip 'twixt my fingers.

And I can't afford to listen to the canyon, deep below.

So in pain, hands bleeding, muscles quivering, I focus -

Focus, on the rope, held taut, far above me.

And the deafening cries subside.

And I'm drawn up by You.

And I realize that, here, I always should dwell:

At the end of my rope.

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