He will be gracious to me when
The voice of my cry hears.
He says that He will answer me then,
and not wait for years.
And though adversity’s my bread
and water of affliction.
Yet teachers shall not be removed;
My eyes shall see conviction.
My ears can hear the words behind me:
“Here’s the way walk in it.
Right or left hand you will be
led rightly”. I’ll submit it.
Distill all of my motives Lord
and bring me forth as gold.
On my own it is too hard,
I want Christ as my mold.
©2007 P. Johnson
Laundry hanging in a row,
Why does catbird mock me so?
Praying prayers it cannot see,
Assenting quiet woe is me.
Faithful Witness, give me grace
for this next test that I must face.
Am I not strong enough to bear?
Lines on face show me the wear.
Going where I should not tread
Captive thoughts I will not dread.
I am afraid to offer me
But that I do, it must be free.
Please take, my Lord, all thoughts of mine
and bend them to the will of Thine.
If given not, I may betray
leading off the narrow way.
I need great wisdom and I ask
to be made stronger for my task.
To die in service, simple sounds
Compared to living here, earthbound.
So I must trust that Faithful You
When I am faithless You stay true.
©Pam Johnson 2007
“When my anxious thoughts multiply within me, Thy consolations delight my soul” (Psalm 94:19)
We pray, for our dear children, the best things
the decisions they will make and how they’ll fare,
since you tell us in your Word you really care,
and while we wait please hide us in your wings.
We want those set safe places that are lasting
that seem in future to be a sure net
and secure our attitude, that doesn’t fret.
Our fearful hope’s a little too contrasting.
But hope that’s seen, it really isn’t hope.
Our prayers would cease because we had our way,
or the fervency would die and so would scope
and sequence of our spiritual life turn fey.
We’d get up off our sore knees and turn shallow,
reversing saintliness to become callow.
Our sons and daughters I hold up to Thee.
“Cause them to live for You”, my constant plea.
I can’t say “take his heart, it is thine own”
even when there’re chances that they’ve blown
But if it is allowed, my constant prayer:
that hearts of all my loved ones would be there;
Fixed on Jesus, author of our faith
and finisher of the same, the scripture saith.
We want His will, until it’s not our own
but for our life His body did atone.
What say I that helps them return His love
to the Savior of our hearts, from up above?
This job that has required more than my skill,
description defies attempts to distill…
…it into something easy, nor will it
a simple quatrain, definition fit.
My heart is some days broken, some days not.
no matter – it takes more than I have got.
I turn to God, in faith I cannot see
knowing that it’s only just a start.
without which, impossible, God to please.
I must not grow too weary and lose heart.
My offering to you O Lord
God of the Universe
Seems not to rival even that of Cain
‘tis nothing perfect, even good
and yet it seems to me
that giving them to you is my constrain
My disappointments, empty loss,
In helplessness I trust
In sad confession, hand you my disdain
This spoiled offering please forgive
My weaknesses and failings
I lift them up O help me not refrain
A new offering I’ve now to give
Still in fainthearted weakness
Thanksgiving in exchange for latter rain
- – -
“What shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits toward me?I will offer to Him the sacrifice of thanksgiving.” Psalm 116:12,17
“In the light of the king’s countenance is life;and his favor is as a cloud of the latter rain.” Proverbs 16:15
Like Moses I have broken tablets stone
Can you give them again in place of what I’ve blown?
Please say to me “Let’s go through this again
I’ll help you follow these commandments ten.”
Upon the mountain top in deepest grief
Your Love, better than life, is sweet relief.
Save me from my inadequacies
My many faults are like the falling leaves.
Renew me through the winter of my soul
A steadfast spirit and a heart that’s whole.
Push me, lead me on the path my life
joy in Your presence even in my strife.
©June 21,2009. p. Johnson