Eventide

Even if
The brightness of the sun
Slips beneath my horizon view,
If the tremulous touch of darkness
Scatters my assertions askew,
Though the earth never cease its spin,
You cannot be moved.

Even if
The blackest sorrow finds me
Doubts, like earthquakes, shake me,
Cracking along my fault lines,
If grief herself breaks me
I am never beyond the reach or repair
Of Your immovable hands.

Even so,
As I struggle with what’s in me,
The sin that strips the world bare,
Leaving brokenness, our destruction,
The inky depths of our despair-
Through the dark night of the soul
I strain to see, to believe You still care.

Even so,
You, the God who cannot be moved,
Are moved for me.
The God who weeps,
The God who bleeds,
The God who strives,
The God who sings
Is moved to sing over me.