Coffee and creamed,
truth and grace,
or so it seemed.
That mixture of
strong and soft,
and how oft
I wanted to slip
into a week,
geeked and tweaked.
But it’s Monday.
A do over day,
to pray, play, slay.
Another new mercy say.
although nothing new,
“I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness,
the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed.
I remember it all—oh, how well I remember—
the feeling of hitting the bottom.
But there’s one other thing I remember,
And remembering, I keep a grip on hope:
God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,
his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.
They’re created new every morning. (Even Monday morning)
How great your faithfulness!
I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over).
He’s all I’ve got left.