Mire me back in my false life.
Put me back to sleep.
Let me obsess about my looks,
my clothes,
which celebrity is sleeping with whom,
and how much dust is on my furniture.

Take me back to the days
when I didn’t know you,
when my heart was not yet pierced
and felt whole to me.
Wholeness was an illusion,
but i want the illusion back.

I cannot do this real.
Your real is way too hard

Rewind time and make me self-focused.
Let me not see you everywhere.
Let me see only me,
and what I want,
and if this pleases me or not,
and if this does anything for me or not.

Let me not see your broken and bleeding world–
your broken and bleeding body out there,
needing my attention and hard work;
your broken and bleeding body deep within me,
calling me and calling me to please show up,
please don’t look away,
please stay with me and I will stay with you.

You have wounds,
and they are my wounds, too.
All wounds must be cleaned in order to mend.
The damaged and dead tissue has to be removed
for complete healing to take place.
This process can result in a temporarily larger wound,
but it is clean,
and will now, in the right environment,
not move backward but will begin to fill in,
to repair itself,
to become whole again.

Submitting myself to your care
means trusting you.
It means trusting that you are in all things,
that you can work through all things,
that you do truly love me and you are working your good purposes
all the time in every way possible.
It means believing all is grace.

I cannot find any of these beliefs right now.

O Saints, O Cloud of Witnesses!
Look down on your fellow soul!
I am alone.
I am abandoned.
I am afraid. 

Pray for me,
send me your trust,
your knowing,
your believing.

I cannot see anything,
and I don’t know if I can trust this God whom I love so much
but hide from so readily.
I am in the middle of my race,
but your races are run.
Your stories are complete,
and what wonderful stories they are!
Returns to faithfulness,
transformational encounters,
holy boldness against all odds! 

O Saints, O Cloud of Witnesses,
have mercy on your fellow soul.
I cannot see ahead of me,
I cannot find Love,
I feel alone.

Intercede on my behalf,
I beg of you. 

Do not leave me
to die here.
Do not let my potential
shrivel up and blow away
in this desert of aloneness
and lurking shadows.

Please don’t let this be how my story ends.

Lindy Thompson

Lindy Thompson is a lyricist and writer who has collaborated with Mark Miller on many pieces for choral and congregational singing. She lives in Franklin, TN where she and her family are members of Christ UMC. She blogs at lindythompson.net

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