Abba Father:
Here. In our Cottage-by-the-Sea,
I want to stay, here, alone me and You.
Maybe I could stay until I drift away,
On clouds of heartache one stormy day.

I know. I’m wallowing in self-pity.
That’s why, I’ve been either quiet, or funny.
It hurts too much to see this disease,
Eat away at body, my mind, my want-to-be’s.

Wife? Not much of a helpmeet these days.
No. I interrupt everything, put burdens on.
Mom? Maybe a bit better, we talk a lot.
She is shielded from much, it’s all I’ve got.

Freely. I plea for extensions to spare her pain.
But, then, there’s You Lord, what do I do for You?
Guilt assails me with relentless reminders,
No way I ever repay You for all you are, and were.

Truly? If you allowed it all to be gone?
It couldn’t come close, to repay Your Son’s sacrifice.
If I could, I’d plea, I’d beg to know n
Could I stand up & say please don’t do that?

My body? It’s so broken down, Lord.
I need help with everything including living.
Here’s where I draw my strength.
Beside a sea, teeming with healing,

My soul revives with it’s waving.
Enough. I plea for You to use me.
Somewhere, somehow, for something.
Even if only to tell one person how great You are

God? You’re listening I know.
When it’s time, can we be here?
Our Cottage-by-the-Sea on the beach?
Those wheelchair tire tracks ending,
Where the waves break their curling?

Now, help me face today please, Lord.
                             d.f.a.v. 8/16/15
—Donna