Sunday, September 7, 2014

Contrite or Fight: a poem.

I am not contrite, I fight
The Plan the Lord has for me.
Kindness, Mercy, Justice I seek,
but it all by passes me.

My fruit is weak, my crown is small
but bigger it would be if I could just
humble myself happily to Thee.

I fight his will, I want my way,
It's righteous desires I seek.
But I must wait and wait and wait
and be like Abraham meek.

I have not seen the Lord as he,
I do not talk face to face,
But I too know the plan is real
and the resurrection true.

Priesthood hands have blessed my life,
I have believed them true,
But nothing matches up you see,
A mother I will probably not be.

But can I turn away the God
who lends my breathe to me?
who died for me that I might
with my family forever be.

He forgives my sins, he comforts me
with the gospel truth restored
Through scriptures that I can read
and learn of men like Job and Jonah
and choose to trust or run away.

Is my plan a plan of hope,
or just sick ironies?
Although I do not fit the mold,
I know He still loves me.

- By Becky L. Rose
Sept 7th 2014.