Sunday Lament

photo from http://ordinarysparrow.wordpress.com/

My messes seem too much, O Lord,
my debts too deep,
my habits too entrenched—
and my sweat-efforts trickle
like futile droplets onto a parched prairie.

(Not necessarily a desert—if it were a desert, I suppose I should truly despair.
But now I merely complain and fret
to my God, to myself, and to faithful friends who frequent this blog):

Will I ever live in a somewhat tidy house, devoid of

teensy toys, cracker crumbs, and cardboard boxes
failing to contain the masses of mementoes;
where empty crevices covet clutter and
heirlooms, books and breakables tremble,
ever-vulnerable to destruction?

Will there ever be a day when, as in days of young,

I do not bear the weight of worry when I consider
the Mountain of Expenses
compared to my molehill of money?

Darn you, drought! You discourage me.

But you have not drenched my hope.
You try to douse my dreams with dry heat,
but know:

The River of Life flows within me—

even on days when, in my sad stupor,
I cannot hear its roar.

Why should I feel discouraged,
Why should the shadows come,
Why should my heart be lonely
And long for Heav'n and home,
When Jesus is my portion?
My constant Friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow,
And I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow,
And I know He watches me.