Sidling up in silken slippers,

Self-pity seduces with soft sympathy,

Never letting slip that

Snug comfort of the duvet

It slides around my shoulders

Is a straitjacket,

Binding hands and feet from duty and devotion,

Blinding eyes to promises and fellowship of Christ in pain,

Stifling with earthbound acedia.

How different Spirit’s solace—

Smelling salts, strong tea, and sturdy shoes

To revive sunk souls,

To fortify with comfort,

To minister Love in my inmost self,

To open blind eyes to my great sin

And God’s great goodness,

To come alongside, supporting

My weakness with His strength

When my soul faints on steep inclines

And feet stumble, bleeding, on sharp stones.

Lord, make me wise to the wiles of self-pity,

Wary of its entitlement and promised ease.

When tempted to curl, dragonlike,

Around my hoard of heartaches,

May my soul fly to You

On nightingale wings of lamentation,

Emptying my tears and cries into Your treasure bottle,

That You may fill me with love

And shelter me under Your wing.

May my soul delight in Your true comfort,

For only there can I find strength

To do Your will, to choose the

True, right, lovely, and eternal,

Even when the cost is persevering pain.

You are worthy.

You are better.

You are good.

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