I went to sleep with a lump in my throat, slept restlessly, woke with a rock in my stomach.
You lost no sleep for You needed none. You kept watch. You are my Rock, my foundation stone.
I walk through my days anxious, worried, apprehensive, wringing my hands.
You are not wringing Yours; Your hands hold all who are Yours (and mine.)
I peer into the fog that is my future and find I am nearly paralyzed with all I do not know. I limp.
You know all that has been, is and will be, for You are already there.
But I am here, wrestling fears on ground slippery with view blinding tears.
Wretched and restless, I come.
It is a fearful thing to fall into your hands, O living God,
But it is more fearful not to.
When I fall, I land in your hands.
I can rest because I am held.
I can rest because fledgling sons, aging father and mother, hurting friends are held.
I can rest because You do not sleep.
Today, for today, and today, for tomorrow, I want to rest on the rock who is my Rock.
But sometimes a Rock is a hard resting place.
And I already have a stone for a pillow...