Written 8-22-12, Anna Olson
My fingers get so tired, doing what I want to. What else, then, can I do? I think I’ll run to you.
No piano or pen can I hold or play. What then, can my heart say? I think I’ll simply pray.
I’m running only figuratively for all know I can’t be literal.
But I can look to you and see your hand, if only in my peripheral.
You, Lord, are my strength, my portion, my mineral.
You lift me up, this I know; it’s scriptural.
My body is exhausted, walking and doing what I must. Where then, can I find gust? I think I’ll trust.
No distance can I go without struggle. Where then, can I scuttle? I think I’ll be humble.
I trust you with my life as much as I’m able.
Sometimes I take back, but you, Lord, are stable.
I seek your truth, which is much more than a fable.
It is you why I keep going; you’re my power cable.
I am so scared, for unpredictable is this disease. Who then, can relieve? I’ll always believe.
Nothing of my body can I know what is to come. Who then, knows all and then some? I’ll always succumb.
I hold fast to you, Lord, for you are perfect in all your ways.
My God, you are so good and me you always amaze.
I will raise your name above all else for all of my days.
I live to glorify you, Father, and to bring you praise.