Paralyzed, perhaps discouraged
Lying on a mat, surrounded
By four friends resolved, determined.
No words we know this man had uttered
Just friends who carried, climbed and lowered
His bed to Jesus’ feet.
Healing came not through his profession
But with borrowed faith, expectation;
He walked away, his sins forgiven.
The joy of knowing, of loving
The weight of absence
The treasure of friendship
The ache of longing
The comfort of heaven
The pain of separation
The sweetness of memory
The numbness of emotion
The confusion of guilt
The hope of eternity
Feeling everything and nothing in the same breath.
Creator of life, know me. When my soul desires the silent land, rescue me. Maker of man, heal me. When flesh fails, strengthen me. Mover of mountains, show me. When grass withers, make your word alive. Man of sorrows, comfort me. When I’m drowning in affliction, make your law delightful.
Who is that stranger, the one I must have known. What could have caused such a brazen desertion where the pieces lying broken cannot utter their aversion. When I search for the old remnants, how is defeat and disillusion the result of search and rescue. Why must she continually abandon.
You do not belong here, you should not impose. You bring distress as you depress your friends and your foes. Blades of green surrounding defiled tombs confounding; buried deep are dry bones. Escape, o’ prisoner, from this incessant death. You do not belong here, this place is not your home.
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