The stones of my house
Continue to fall in upon me.

Battered and bruised,
Day after day,
And night after long night,
As I struggle to replace those stones,
To rebuild the walls,
My flesh and my spirit fail me.

And I cry.

But there is no one to hear,
And the tears are soon gone,
And I wipe my cheeks dry
For there is work to be done...

Meanwhile, Jesus sits
A small distance away...
At the special place
Where I have asked Him to stay.

As the very foundation
Shakes beneath me,
I steel myself to the pain,
Block out the loneliness,
And move my tiny, shaky ladder
From one low spot in the crumbling wall
To another...
Desperately...
Trying to replace the stones
As fast as they fall.

Meanwhile, Jesus sits
A small distance away...
At the special place
Where I have asked Him to stay.

As I work with the heavy stones,
Struggling in vain to rebuild
The walls of protection,
I must also keep watch,
Lest the beasts or the thieves or the spirits
fall upon us, my family and me...

Meanwhile, Jesus sits
A small distance away...
At the special place
Where I have asked Him to stay.

The realization that I need help
Comes to me some days vaguely
And other days keenly
And I sometimes look around
Seeing not Jesus
But those around me
Who, it seems, ought to be there
At least to hold my ladder
But alas they are struggling
With stones of their own.

Meanwhile, Jesus sits
A small distance away...
At the special place
Where I have asked Him to stay.

And another day comes,
And the family must eat
That which I alone must provide,
Or so I tell myself,
Believing the lie...

Meanwhile, Jesus sits
A small distance away...
At the special place
Where I have asked Him to stay.

And another night comes, the children are in bed,
And I know that God wants me to come to Him,
But I also know that I have no time for that tonight,
No, sorry Lord, not tonight.
Maybe tomorrow...

For tonight there is much to be done.

Much that I must do.

I alone...

No wonder I cry!

And Jesus cries, too,
As He witnesses my struggle,
Understanding, as only He can,
And feeling every fiber of my pain.

And He wonders,
"How can this man
Still not understand?"

And daily He calls to me...
And some days I pause from my work
Long enough to hear Him
So patiently remind me,

"My son, my precious child...

"Unless the Lord builds the house,
They labor in vain who build it.

"Unless the Lord guards the house,
The watchman stays awake in vain."

"Oh, my son...you work so hard
And I know you want to do what is right...
But please understand...."

"It is vain for you
To rise up early,
And to retire late.
For the Lord gives to His beloved
Even in their sleep."

And on those precious days,
When I hear His strong
And gentle voice,
On those days...

I cry.

Not with tears
of exhaustion,
of frustration,
and of pain...

Instead, with tears
Of gratitude!
Of happiness!
Of relief!

But there is no one to hear,
And the tears are soon gone,
And I wipe my cheeks dry
For there is work to be done...

And again, Jesus sits
a small distance away...
at the special place
where I have asked Him to stay...

And he watches me losing the battle
With the falling stones,
And He hears me cry,
As a particularly large stone
Strikes another devastating blow...

And He calls my name...

But amidst the chaotic sounds
Of the falling stones,
And the thoughts and plans and schemes
That fill my desperate but feeble mind...
I do not hear Him.

And He sees that I am more determined than ever
To be victorious in my struggle...

"My" struggle!

And Jesus,
the One who gladly gave His life
to set me free,
Watches...And waits...

And cries.