Wooden Box of Life

Before I let me lay my head,
Upon the pillow of my bed,
In my hands my box of life,
A wooden shape for joy and strife,
A fleeting thought, a breath of grace,
Transports my soul to heaven’s place.
I feel my knees against the floor,
lift off alight as done before,
And so I flow in maker’s mist,
and give the counting of my list.

What is in my box tonight?
A smile, a fear, a hope or fight?
As I tumble through the space
My box reveals that frequent face,
The terror one I won’t take out
that haunts my eyes and makes me doubt
thy love for me and all I am
as stained and doomed a total sham
now I feel the hardwood floor
I’m lost and weak, a man no more.

I see and hear them in their pain
now they all project the blame
at me and how I cannot bear
to see their eyes with empty stare
My God! My God abandoned me,
At depth below a lifeless sea.
The bottom of the blackened toss
Where the pain anneals the loss
A warm touch stirs, a gentle kind
a guide to save me from my mind.

My box within it too was hope
Other things to help me cope
they too are now amid the swirl
I see the picture of my girl
Now calm and ease displace the sense
of pointless hurt of my offence
My knees again are free above
My soul has comfort in His love.
Now I place my box aside,
beside my bed where it resides

At peace am I tonight with pain
With Him I know that I remain.
I bear a cross like Him and will
place in my box and carry still.
Aloft now with my wooden box
my hope and hurt that now unlocks
the part of me that glory shows
I understand what suffring knows,
So now I let my tired head,
Caress my pillow in my bed.