Steward

The water's been spilt
a threshold crossed
Our life-blood
the properties which keep us breathing
negated, little by little
We try to sop the puddle
Mend the gap
Stitch the cut
and gasp for air
but we are being strangled by our own hands
We age
We wrinkle
We scar
If He has truly set eternity in the hearts of men, why do we live such mortal lives?
I desire more, but I perpetually do less.
Perhaps we are intended to age, wrinkle, and scar
and in doing we give up our cups that we find prone to be spilled.
This is life.
We cross boundaries in a spirit not our own- in a spirit our own becomes
We mend the wounds of others
but it is something wholly beyond ourselves.
Our strength is not our own and it is perfected in our weaknesses.
Mortality given to death is grieving- weakness
Mortality given to life is immortality- strength
Eternity is set in our hearts
Immortality must be lived
This is our inheritance
-Choice

Hinneh

Here am I, Lord
Withered and beat
Gone in this perpetually dismal defeat
So long have we labored
Hefting the world's burdens to your feet
So long have we waited
Turning not left or right with deceit
So long have we stayed
With nowhere to rest and nothing to eat
So long have we pained
In child-birth till our King takes His seat
The harvest is here
Come, gather your wheat
Wisdom no longer calls to an empty street
Arise, O Lord
Press this coal to my lip
Allow me to feel it's refining heat
Send me.