by Laura E. Hilton

 

I will hear your words, O Lord,
I will sing and selah with my mouth;
I will teach, I will study, I will serve with my hands,
but in my heart, O Lord,
I will hesitate.
Skeptic to Your goodness,
questioner of Your mercy, I say,
God of the Universe,
who created skies and stars and humans,
who destroy themselves and each other in the process,
Your justice is thin,
Your wisdom is pale, so
omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient to what end?
Oh God of tomorrow and yesterday,
He who dwells in Kolob (or maybe Kabbalah),
know that I will ask, knock, seek, and find
questions bigger than Your answers.
You, whose voice is not in the tempest or the earthquake
but found in poverty, famine, and war,
know that I see the mantle of uncertainty.
I wear my worry like a garment.
I bear witness to a gospel of anxiety.
But in the sackcloth and ashes of my soul,
I beg you to not forget:
my cries are my covenant;
my frustrations, my faith;
my tears are my testimony.

Praise ye the Lord.
Praise the Lord, O my soul.


LAURA E. HILTON is a writer, teacher, word nerd, and chronic over-thinker. She currently lives in Cache Valley, Utah, with her husband and six kids. Learn more about her at https://lauraehilton.com.


Photo: “Different View” by Riccardo Cuppini