On precipice I journey,
treading lip of shale and sand.
Stomach drops as I'm fearing,
quick fall takes to unknown land.

I long to find sure footing,
kept safe from punishing shame.
As clouds build, dark rising,
hope retreats from future pain.

Prospect of fall and failure,
seems I'm imminently doomed.
Of hurt, heart is only sure,
for lone death do I seem groomed.

Then Papa speaks from heaven,
piercing as winters north wind.
'Son, prized have you for so long been,
receive now, my long-time friend.

A gift have I given you,
through struggle shall it be yours.
This ache is towards purpose,
through trust shall heart be soon cured.

Son of Abba I call you,
take courage of heart and mind.
My boy, great things inherit,
for you are sure as stone mine.

Listen no longer to voices
of damn shame and fearful doubt.
Free man have I now made you,
Imprisoned, now taken out.'

-BH

August 2013