I am in the Book of Lamentations in the Bible. I feel I am living in the same scenario as that painted by the prophet Jeremiah. Flapping in the breeze, hung out to dry in the sun, devoid of life-giving water, I cling to the remnant of my once-vibrant faith in God and struggle daily to maintain some semblance of godly living--whatever that looks like.
Perhaps the LORD will have mercy on me, unmerited though it is. Totally undeserved favor is what I crave most. Repentance is the call of the day. "Ichabod!" No glory.
Knowing Jesus will not leave me nor forsake me, I press on. Limp, halt, crippled by sin, I walk--no, crawl--to the cross. Calvary is my only hope, forgiveness is my prayer. Presumption and pride are my sins. God's grace is my only shelter.
Jesus, Savior, pilot me
over life's tempestuous sea;
unknown waves before me roll,
hiding rock and treacherous shoal.
Chart and compass come from thee;
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.
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