Jeremiah, the prophet. Today.

Jeremiah, the prophet. Today.

by troy cady

Lord,

sometimes I feel

like the best I have to give

will never be good enough.

I’m tired, Lord.

I’m tired of letting others down.

I’m tired of being misunderstood.

I’m tired of the criticism.

You know what I’m thinking, Lord:

“What’s the point? Why bother?

No matter what I do,

no matter what I attempt,

I fall short.

So, why keep trying?”

I give up, Lord.

I’m tired of trying.

I’m tired of crying.

I’m just tired, Lord.

Selah.

Who am I

and where are you?

What do you want me to do?

Do I have any gift to offer others,

anything that blesses

without causing offense?

I feel exposed, Lord—

like I’m surrounded

by those who

smile when I see them

but scoff otherwise.

I’ve no one to turn to, Lord.

I’ve no one to trust.

Is this my calling, Lord?

I felt certain in the past,

but now I’m not so sure.

I feel like a fool.

Selah.

My friend said I may need

to make a home

in the sadness

for a while,

to stay with it

for a season.

And I suppose that was you speaking, Lord.

In that case,

I want to ask you, I need some insight:

“Is this what it feels like

to be ready for one final winter?

Tell me, because I don’t know

and I want to feel something,

I want to care

about crying in the darkness.

Tell me, because I don’t want

to set myself up

for one last death

much, much too early.”

Selah.