Lord, from you comes indeed the words of life. I write not out of my own knowledge. I write not out of my own whims. Everything I write I jot down only in behalf of you. For it is you O Lord who speaks unto me your wisdom and it is you O Lord who reveals unto me the truth. How I desire to share the things you taught me. How I pray to make known your beauty and your saving grace. Yet wretched instrument that I am, how often do I fail to reflect the Light that has come upon me. How my words fall short of the eloquence of your thoughts. I am weighed down by the darkness that still looms within me. By fears that shake the strokes of my pen. How then shall others understand? How then shall lives be touched and changed?
It is no wonder people laugh at my works and make a joke of my labors. They find all the wrong things about it and discourage me all the time for my useless pursuit. Some were courteous enough to stay silent, but I know that they read them not as well. They turn a few pages and soon fall soundly asleep. They pretend to have read it yet says not anything they learned from it. They think I’m crazy trying to do what I do. They think I waste my time with toils from which I profit not.
Yet do I waste my time indeed? And what is the profit I should seek? Is it not to be content in your Holy Presence? Is it not to learn each day from you? Is it not the healing of my own wounds as you give me words that soothe the pain of my own heart? For the gift you have given me is thy gift to me indeed. Even before its fragrance blesses others, your perfume anoints me and gives me joy I can never exchange for any profit that this world knows of. You have blessed me indeed. You have been patient with my blunders. You have given me your smile as I pushed on.
O Dear Father, let me not give up now. Help me as I hone your gifts night and day. Renew my strength as I tread the path that is both lonesome and rought, as I face struggles that are truly great and long. And if I should offer my own blood with which to write down every word, let me offer it willingly and joyfully as you have offered your own. Let me weep not for my own pain. Let me not complain for my own cross. For it is through suffering that others may be relieved, through my own wounds that others may be healed. And it is through this cross that hopes will be rekindled, bringing forth the good news of a brand new day. Amen.
Check Jocelyn's books:
"Of Waves and Butterflies: Poems on Grief", "Mend My Broken Heart", "Questions to God", "To Love an Invisible God", "Defending My Catholic Faith", and more - click here.
(You may freely quote excerpts from this website as long as due credit is given to author Jocelyn Soriano and the website itakeoffthemask.com)