“It’s happening again,
I’m so sick of this trend,
Where nothing else remains,
Just me, God and my pain.
The weather, dark and stormy
Reflects my heart so full of fury,
Why is it always me?
But could it be?
Could God bring good of this maybe?
I’ve built a shell,
A shell to keep me well,
A shell to hide the pain,
A shell to make me look free again.
I’ve built a mask,
Now quite a task,
To hide my feelings,
As though sealing
Up my thoughts at last,
into my mask that’s holding fast.
I’ve built a wall,
A wall so tall,
To keep all out,
And my heart from traveling ‘bout.
But these objects I have built,
to hide away my wilt,
have become to me a prison cell,
always making me look well.
And now they finally crack,
The will to hold them up I lack,
But then the unthinkable occurs,
Someone makes me lift my anchor,
And suddenly I’m out at sea,
The place I’d always been but never wanted to be.
I struggle through the gale,
But on my own strength what can I do but fail?
I need a hand, a sturdy hand,
To pull me, help me back to land,
I need a hand to wipe my tears,
Someone to calm my fears.
Maybe someday I will find rest,
Fellowship with friends is best,
But there is one thing even greater,
One being who is always braver.
This one man,
Who carried out our father’s plan,
Has saved us all,
Once and for all,
And through His gruesome death,
His ragged, broken, final breath,
I know I always will find rest,
Even through every test,
If I hide within the shadow of his wings,
And let Him hold all my heartstrings.”