lying here in my comfy bed
and crying,
and wondering why
the Lord picked broken me
to tell my pitiful story.
I feel in my heart you have more in store for me,
Lord,
but I seem unable to find that open window.
The door has closed,
so where do I go from here, oh Lord?
I'm still not yet home, so there must be more.
Am I giving up too easily,
letting the enemy win?
Have I done the work you set before me,
taken the right road,
jumped off the fence?
My fists are bloodied from knocking on that closed door.
Where, oh where is that open window?
Am I looking in the wrong place,
trusting in man,
feeling sorry for myself,
not moving ahead?
I know my job here is not yet done,
I know in my soul there is more.
But where do I go from here,
am I on the right road?
Where is that door,
where is that open window?
Is what I'm writing falling on closed ears?
Why, oh why am I still here,
Lord, Jesus,
Why?
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