"Soul Ripping" - a poem

(there are days or even eras in our life when the Lord is doing a particularly painful work in us. And we can only pray that, when it's all said & done, He will prevail. And we will learn to succumb to the best God has for us, without compromise, regardless of how that "best" looks like from this vantage point. This poem, like my life, is a work in progress...)

How does my heart stand it,
This poverty of oneness?
The intimacy with the world,
Invites me to fun-ness,
Your call on my life
And my love
Is extreme,
When bonding with You
means I leave the world behind.

Will I fail the test
and only take “so much,”
not rely on Your faithfulness, and count You
as not enough?
But are you more than I need?
Yes, in heavenly terms, but on earth
It seems….
Like you’re not quite sufficient,
To make real my fine dreams.

The satisfaction quotient of my
Body and soul
Says ‘Lord, give me some slack,
Your will comes too slow,
To check all my passions and yearnings
And fears.
Would Jesus be able to stand here, without tears?

The stripping—it’s started again,
The soul ripping, of things of earth and clay
The grinding, of rough edges,
you’ve cleaned.
You’re burning dross away
You’re calling me to white, to purity,
The gray can’t stay,

And I’m hanging on
with bare fingernails,
to believe what I know
about You and your goodness,
of your plan and its flow.

I’m hanging on
avoiding false “options”
To live out what is true,
While having doubts of your character,
And still wanting a clue.

You’ve called me to freedom,
To light and to joy,
But the power and pulling and tugging of
Other loves,
Of things that are good, but not the best, from above,
Is straining to steal my heart from higher things
And wrenching your grasp away--
What can hold me
In the gap, come what may?

The stripping, it’s started,
Gone the layers of stuff,
The burning is painful,
I’m struggling to breathe,
The stretching— is forcing me
To live just for One.

We’ve been through this before,
Must I give up again?
Must I surrender to you as boss, shall you win?
No glory for me, no limits allowed,
Isn’t once all that’s needed,
For my heart to be yours?

Were decisions not made many years before
Sufficient to hold me until death’s door?
Why must I keep giving up,
giving in,
with white flag waving?
Brutal call on my life,
Stop the backward glance, wavering.

And I’m hanging on with fingernails,
Over the cliff of bitterness.
Over the options of half-way,
Of sin or of play.

The stripping—continues,
Jacob’s wrestle repeated.
“Oh, Lord, will you bless me,”
Cries my soul quite defeated.
Shall I fight or resign,
Make a fist or act benign?
In the great scheme of things my heart wills to say,
“You are here.”
I will stay.

I’m hanging on
With heartache,
And crying myself to sleep,
Over the crevice of “good enough,” or of sin,
Or of half-way.

Yes, it’s on-going,
The stripping,
Layers peeling
(Do you hear ripping?)
Heart is pounding,
Got me by the stomach—
Eyes are tired.
Time for
soul ripping.