I sat alone, alongside a muddy riverbank,
Underneath the shade of an old twisted tree;
Its roots spread wide and were firmly grounded.
And I wished I was that tree.
Instead I am chaff on the wind, blown to and fro.
Everything leaves me, like the waters rushing by.
There only for a moment, and then gone forever.
Friends forsake me. Enemies strike me down.
And I cannot tell which is which anymore,
Or even if there is a difference, or if I care.
The lines have been blurred. All is uncertain.
White and black mixed into unsightly gray.
My heart is taken and crushed time after time.
I cry out to the Lord, "Make me this tree,"
But there is no answer, so I sit and consider.
Are they friends who falsely accuse?
Are they friends who believe without question?
If I have erred, let me know and I will amend.
If I have sinned, let me know and I will repent.
Why then am I continued to be held in contempt?
What more can be demanded of me than perfection?
I am wronged by friends who are my enemies,
But I will continue to love and pray for them.
I am brought low, even to the depths of Hell,
But I will continue to hope they will be friends again.
And what is this but to try and demonstrate
Just a fraction of what God has done for me.
For when I falsely accused him, he bore a cross.
When I held him in contempt, he wore thorns as a crown.
When I was his enemy, he died for me.
When all hope was lost, he continued to live.
As I consider this, I still feel like chaff;
No firm direction, no understanding of what I am.
Who am I? What do I want for myself?
I desire not riches, or glory, or fame.
I desire not prestige, honor, or acclaim.
I simply desire to stop wandering without aim.
I desire a place of rest, a place to stand firm.
To stand firm like the tree I sat under,
And I looked up and saw the tree as it really was:
Gnarled and knotted, weather-beaten and bent.
And I realized I already was the tree,
And I was content.
