... my psalter's is so damn repetitive. When will I learn?
If I pored over Your word
as over source texts
as when assigned an essay
as on semantic reference and definite descriptions ...
If I denied myself the comforts of physical fill and rest
to mete the urgency of Your kingdom
as to meet looming deadlines for submission, and not That kind, ...
If I craved the perfection of my soul
i.e. Your sanctifying work and grace
as I desire perfection in my own efforts ...
But I see now
Your work, grace.
My work, toil.
You must affect
my affections.
My affections unaided
fail to be for You.
I once thought if instead at divinity school,
to meditate on Your precepts constantly
and to call this my highest duty
would be easy. Natural.
By nature?
As if a holier place outside me could mute my sin nature
Like a new nature within to abolish the old.
As if delighting in my studies would be delighting in You.
I shudder that some brilliant theologian might not be known by You.
But I see now, even in such a place
I would inquire into You
not to draw nearer to You
-- Nearness'd be a precipitate at best--
but to satisfy my intellect
and delusional hunger for merit.
As if earning favor is sweeter than the unmerited favor
that some call grace.
Heart, is He not enough for you?
God, are You not enough for me?
Mercy, LORD.
For though my heart does not
-YET!-
embrace and communicate this
to my every ac/affec -tion
its chief and ultimate end is You.
it must be You.
nearness to You
delight in You
Your gracious accepting--saving--approval
You have shown me that my heart is capable of these affections
Only... not after You.
Yet I will hope in the "yets"
For I am Your grace in progress.
But I fear!
to ask that You take Your place
that I have usurped vis lesser, idolatrous loves.
I am afraid to enthrone You.
I trust not in Your goodness.
Mercy, Father.
Heart! has He not been trustworthy?
Is He not more aweful than your little fears,
does He not store up your sorry tears?
More wonderful than dirty rags,
He is worthy.
