Iím so darn tired and just plumb worn out,
That even in objection I canít raise a shout.
My legs ache, ache to the centre of the bone,
Father, I wish Youíd relent, call me home.
To lift my arms in praise is now just a chore,
The weariness goes deep to my very core,
Iíve had it, I submit, throw in the towel,
My guts a tightly twisted, knotted bowel.
Whatever happened to my cheer?
When did I become so full of fear?
When did depression creep on in?
When did faithís vision get so dim?
I remember when once I stood against the flow,
I remember declaring Your Word for all to know.
I thought then Your calling was more than enough,
But I didnít know the church could play so rough.
Dreams were shattered as the name calling began,
Self justifications were the songs that we all sang,
And Your Word that demands that we look at self,
Was far more comfortable left on a dusty shelf.
Whatever happened to refinerís fire?
When did we lose our holy desire?
When did hearts become an excuse,
To live a life full of justified abuse?
It isnít a life saved if it isnít a life transformed,
Returned to the Father for Whom it was formed.
And many a preacher has been sent to the grave,
By the very same lives he only wanted to save.
Struggling with criticism can wear you right out,
Everything being questioned, brought into doubt.
So make sure at the very next meeting you attend,
Look the preacher in the eye, ďThank you, friend.Ē
Whatever happened to gratitude?
Christians are polite, not rude.
So thank the preacher one and all,
It isnít easy to answer the call.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
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