trees.

trees with roots, they grow;
into the starry night.
battered by the wind, by the rain, by the snow;
left bald by the fight.
trees with roots, they grow.

trees with roots, they grow;
not uncertain of the soil fromwhich they sprout.
a stately stance, of their past they know;
boisterous but lowly, high above the clout.
trees with roots, they grow.

the blues.

I'm not having an easy time. Life is hard.
I'm tired, and weary, and bruised up.
Things pile up and become to-do list after to-do list. Why?
I'm trying my hardest not to let wordly things own me.
But it's so hard to do that when wordly things are all you know,
and all you associate yourself with. I think Satan always
has his hand on the strings. He's whispering that I won't
amount to much. He's whispering that the things I care about
most are going to turn on me. He's telling me I need money -
lots of money - to find joy. And half the time, I'm believing it.

I know God is here. And I'm
faithful that He is teaching me things
through this garbage. But it's not easy to hear His voice.
It takes time, and discipline, and the will to shut off things.

God, just be here. Help me to find joy in trouble.
Help me to be a man about my mistakes.
Help me to know that it takes asking questions
to learn how to do something.