A poem? A prayer?

I’m under attack, my attitude suffers.

Everyone around me suffers.

You’ve called me to something new and great, and now satan chips at me.

And I’m letting him.

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I’m tired, I’m angry, I’m frustrated.

I eat; I withdraw.

I don’t do your work or your will.

Father, I’m weary.

I’m irritated by family and friends.

I disagree with decisions being made at my church; what do I do with this?

It’s making me bitter and I complain, I curse, I snap at those close.

My witness is one of falseness and not joy.

Help me, Father.

I have work to do.

I don’t want to be bitter, I want to be loving; I want to serve you.

Help me, Father.

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