Am I a warrior, or a worrier?
I've been called both, at different times;
which mantle fits, is really mine?
Do I stand, await the fight?
Or like is my instinct that of flight?
While I may look the warrior part,
so many worries pull at my heart;
pondering the troubles of this earthly realm,
leaves me feeling overwhelmed.
The poor are starved, the system broken,
neighbour hurts neighbour with harsh words, spoken.
We plumb the depths of total depravity,
ignoring the eternal gravity.
Sickness and death lay waste our brothers;
cancer threatens our sisters and mothers.
Our men are pathetic; our women, whores;
it drips in the Church, while outside it pours.
Our children are killed; we've turned homicidal,
as each of us chases career as our idol.
On one side, ISIS brings feelings of dread,
on the other, we've people who can't use their heads;
we've abandoned rational thought, for emotions;
existential emptiness gets endless promotion.
To speak the truth, is to throw away caution,
and where do I even start on abortion?
So I worry for the future of my family;
will society stop my sons from being manly?
Will they, like me, to serve be free?
will persecution see them flee?
Will my wife and I an old age reach?
will our faith cause us manmade laws to breach?
Will my children come to know the Lord,
to follow him even if threatened by sword?
These thoughts all surface, bubble and stew;
worries running through and through.
My mind apace; thoughts loud and shrill,
then God, my Father, says "be still!"
Jesus, my saviour, has beaten this pain;
although killed for it, He rose again.
To destroy suffering is His intent,
but first, He calls all to repent;
He waits, and seems, to us, to tarry,
but He's already won; what weight He carried.
Those hands, scarred through with iron nails,
hold me close as these thoughts, me assail.
One thing I know, and this, surely,
soon, I'll see His face in glory;
we'll live forever, with the true king,
who died to cure our suffering.