“I don’t have it in me.”
Exhaustion speaks those words,
perhaps despair
limbs weary from the weight of it all
unsure how to do another day
of the same old heavy tasks
“I don’t have it in me,”
whispered words,
or words hidden behind a forced smile,
words hidden by shame
as if they have never been spoken before
(or at least not by a Christian)
“I don’t have it in me,
and my cup is empty
but they want me to keep on pouring
and the needs aren’t getting any smaller;
somebody needs to do something
but I don’t have it in me.”
“You don’t have it in you,”
says our Lord,
who sees our empty cups
and is not, for one moment,
surprised by our lack.
He smiles a little, at his child
who thinks she is the first to come to him with real, actual need,
he shakes his head, again,
“Haven’t we talked about this before?
“You don’t have it in you,
Did you ever think you did?
You never had it in you
You were deceived by your transitory strength
as if that too were not all gift from my hand
“You don’t have it in you.
Rejoice in that reality, my child.
Come to me, empty,
Come to my table.
For I am Your Divine Host;
The feast is prepared by My hands;
At my table you will lack nothing.”
My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food,
and my mouth will praise you with joyful lips,
when I remember you upon my bed,
and meditate on you in the watches of the night;
for you have been my help,
and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy.
(Psalm 63:5-7)
