I keep thinking I’m almost there
Almost to my destination
My destination of selflessness
Where there’s no me within me,
The road to selflessness is coarse, sometimes violent,
It seems much like an endless dead-end.
Just when I think a crevice in the road has blown another tire of self will,
Another self will spare appears,
Much like bubble-wrap, when you think you’ve twisted, squeezed, and stomped,
Thinking all the bubbles have popped,
They seem to fill with air again, as if it has a life of its own.
It’s only after incessant pressure that they give up,
There’s no air left, no fight left in them.
My life of self-will is proverbial bubble-wrap,
It’s been twisted, squeezed, and stomped,
Yet it lives, it lives, wreaking havoc.
But there’s not much fight left, at least I suppose.
Much of the air of self-will has been pressured out,
Stomped on, twisted, wrung out,
Not much fight left, at least I hope…
Now…am I ready to be filled with Christ,
Every crevice that once was filled with self-will
Ready to be satisfied with Jesus…Jesus alone?
I sure hope so, because there’s not much fight left…