I bow again under Your mighty Hand,

O Lord;

And take hold of Your discipline,

Searching what it is You have to say.

I am on the look-out again for Your glorious Land,

O Lord,

And throw all unnecessary burdens aside.

"Honey" and "milk" is what You give me again.

What have I been busy,

O Lord,

Like a Martha in every case.

How did You have to chastize me.

How did I curse and complain,

O Lord;

And how sick it made me,

Before You got my attention.

How did I slave away,

O Lord;

A Mary make me now then at last.

That they fail to give me a simple 'Thank-you',

Let alone that I am truly valued,

O Lord;

It does not matter anymore, really.

Criticism or praise are equally worthless.

May I be only a listener from now on,

O Lord,

And be taught by You.

For You work in secret

Like the whispering of the wise,

O Lord.

A little child fine and humble,

I have finally rest for the morrow.

chris bouter

20 juli, 2008 (Translated from the Dutch)

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