It's Not Pointless

I am tired.

The groan comes from the shallow shell of myself;

It is all that I have to draw from.

I am tired and my bones ache.

There is no profundity to this thought, no depth,

No clarity, just mud that I dump from my bucket,

Unable to serve it to the least of these for there is no cold water left.

I feel as though I wake in the bottom of Joseph’s pit,

When he, rejected by his brothers, groaned and rubbed his back

And ran his hands through his hair, Why, why?

Why have you forsaken me?

What use is the favor of his father here in the hole where all hope is lost?

What use is his heritage in the halls of Potiphar, now a slave?

What use are his talents in the prison cell as he waits, year after year,

For the butler to remember him?

Yet quietly, Joseph was faithful, and under the mercy of God,

That which was for evil intent was used for greater good,

Not just saving Jacob and his sons but preserving the line of the ultimate Savior,

Who would be born of the tribe of Judah, who sold his brother for silver—

So that the stage could be set for the Man who would hang upon the cross,

Tired, with bones aching.

So this is not pointless.

I place my palms on the ground and grab it, digging my fingernails down,

I drag myself forward and scream into the dirt,

I am tired and my bones ache but I am going to believe

Beyond a shadow of a doubt that this—

This is meaningful, this is doing something,

I am held firm in the hand of mercy, in the hand of grace,

In hand of the One who rose from the dead with healing in His wings

Because He allowed Himself to be torn and broken and battered,

Not just in body, but in soul as his closest friends forsook Him and fled,

As even His Father turned His face away.

He did not have his hand forced, rather he chose the hardest way,

He chose to bear His cross and to take upon Himself the fullness of sin,

The wrath of God, that He might go about the ministry of mercy,

Fully poured out for salvation, for love, for grace upon grace.

It was never pointless, never worthless,

For it held life for all in the balance—

Each moment of agony was a word in the story of how God so loved….

God so loved…

God so loved…
I know that it is true. I know it deeper than I know my pain,

So though my body works against itself, though I have nothing to give,

I will give my nothing to the One who makes dry bones come to life,

And watch to see what He accomplishes, for He is making me new.