Open prayers, continued

My head aches from so much crying
Inside it feels like I am dying
When will all this drama end?
When does real joy begin?

Discontentment has ruined my appetite
For anything God may offer
For the present gifts I’ve been unthankful
And now I’m feeling awful

Just as terrible as the Israelites
Complaining because they wanted meat
The bread of heaven was not enough
To satiate their ungrateful mouths

Or wishing for the finer fare of Egypt
When God offered an eternal inheritance in Israel
Esau selling his birthright for a bowl of soup
That’s me, so preoccupied by the present condition
That I relinquish eternal rewards in exchange for a momentary fix

Please forgive my complaining, ungrateful, terribly sin-stricken heart
I thought I lived for your glory
But the only glory at stake here is my own
And I’m quick to stake a claim for my rights
What I think I deserve
What I ought to have

Me, your “faithful” servant
Striving on the inside,
Longing to get away from this commitment I’ve made
To follow wherever you lead.
I guess I don’t trust that You really love me.
You want good things for my life. . .

Those who love the Lord lack no good thing- at least, that’s what the psalmist said.
And yet, I think I am lacking some good things. Like a home, where Jasmine has her own bed. But I think the point you intended to make- the psalmist intended to make, that is- when we know, love, and live for you- nothing else matters as much as knowing you.

Teach me how to be content- to be okay with the fact that we don’t own a lot. You are pretty smart, pretty wise, and you love me more than anyone ever could- especially considering the fact you know me better than anyone. Well, I guess what I’m saying is- okay - I choose to trust you, to remember that You have amazing plans to do great things in this place, and in some small way, I have the privilege of being a part of those plans. Yay! I have everything I need to live a godly life. I have everything I need to please you. This staff in my hand, this smooth stone, this writer’s pen- here I go again- you want what I have to offer, and thankfully, you are not asking for what I cannot give.

You want me.
Just as I am.

I come; I come . . .