Am I the seed sprouted in thorns
a good intention, choked out by worry and the false hope of wealth
Am I the builder without the plan
in a spurt of passion I pour the concrete, then step back, hang my head, wring my hands
Am I the wanderer in the field
sincerely drawn to the pearl, but it costs more than I will give
Are those slumped shoulders mine
of a rich young man
He was offered a place in the company of God
He couldn't leave the kingdom he already had
The question hangs in the air
fallen from the Messiah's lips
"Will you follow me?"
Oh Jesus, help me, please.
Buttress my heart
to carry the cross
to count the cost
to not look back at what I have lost.
You are worth every sacrifice asked, dream deferred, treasure cast off.