the kind that is quietly laboring
and bearing down
and contracting the muscles of the heart
as I sit in the stillness of early morning
about to birth a change in heart and thought
conviction.
A friend once told me to be careful
and carefully pick the hills on which
I would choose not only to run up
and standatop breathless and winded
heart pounding
but also the hills on which
I would choose to die.
And I know
as I reach the point
where I think I just can't do this
I let go
the heart changes
and beauty is birthed
from a dying of my strength
and goodness
and justice
and trusting in His.
