Wake up and wait for the tempest beast to roar
Through my head, my tender frame — ah the pain:
Will I be able to hold back the waterfall in my loins
Will my body rage with tazoring if I try to rise to soon?
Welcome to my world, my day, my nightmare as Cooper said
Alice had black eye make-up unlike the darkness behind my lids
Held so tight, squeezed closed by puppet-like strings of wrath
Taunting my resolve leaving me nowhere to turn but to His Face.
My Jesus knows torture far worse and soon we will celebrate
How He came to save us from our hell by His bodily sacrifice
His ministry when hated, limited only by the perishing of His frame
Such a witness for me, for all to keep moving forward always.
No trial shall thwart the plans made for us in the womb
When our Lord crafted our days, the ups and the deep downs too —
He grieved yet promised to walk with us and deliver us one day
So we could have hope and a reason to reach for His gift above all.
So that is where I will turn: the Cross of my Redeemer that lives
That delivers me from the angst of life without hope for alas it does:
One day this suffering will be gone and my story will be my cross
May it bring glory to the One who opens my eyes on my bed of becoming . . .
. . . for my just reward, for His purposes, for trusting when the struggle is real.