Here’s a poem about the internal dialogue between fretfulness and trust.

 

Awake at 3 a.m.,
my mind invites me to climb from the low place
where languid wisps of drowsiness still curl,
up the stairs to where tomorrow’s puzzles wait.
If I try to fit one piece in place, like as not
I’ll be drawn to undertake a dozen more.

Content yourself, my soul
and in the darkness know
the God who’s everywhere
will hold you in his care.

About an hour’s passed. I’ve turned from side to side
too many times, stretched out my legs
then pulled them up again, folding and unfolding
like a flimsy chair. When does the dog need medicine?
What paperwork is incomplete? What emails need reply?
How should I be positioned on tomorrow’s starting line?

Content yourself, my soul
and in the darkness know
the God who’s everywhere
will hold you in his care.

The earth has nearly turned into the light.
My nighttime thoughts still leave in disarray
most pieces of the day. I learn for what must be
the thousandth time that without his help
I can’t build the house or guard the city.
Take to heart the lesson of the night:

Content yourself, my soul
and in the darkness know
the God who’s everywhere
will hold you in his care.