Illness of the heart
Father, have you ever spared the rod?
I am in a mess of my own making
I am in between two states of being
Father, would you gently lead me
Guide me, mold me, heal the
Illness of the heart
When I am afraid
There is not a word my friends can say
I am in sinking ship of worry
I am in a Petri dish of living
Father, would you override
My body, soul, and mind and the
Illness of the heart
I know you can make me well
Father, make me well
Illness of the heart
Beauty is a kind of medicine
But there is no physician like repentance
There is no condition past forgiveness
There is not a healing like the holy love that leads to
The stillness of the heart
Love me with your all
Or don't love me at all
Stillness of the heart
I am still a novice at the art
I am still embarrassed in your presence
I am still ashamed of being naked
I am still afflicted by unwillingness to kill the
Illness of the heart
