Answer the Call
The path I take is steep and worn,
With thorns that scratch and skies that mourn.
I stumble, fall—too tired to rise,
I sit beneath uncertain skies.
I whispered prayers for months last year,
Each word soaked through with hope and fear:
“Lord, place me where I’ll find Your face,
Where healing floods a broken place.
Not my will, but Yours,” I cried—
A soul laid bare, a self denied.
I think about that waiting man,
Who lay beside the pool’s false plan.
No feet to move, no hand to lend,
Just myths and stillness without end.
But then, one day, the Healer came,
No stirred-up pool, no angel’s name—
Just Jesus, with a question deep:
“Do you want healing from your sleep?”
It echoes still within my chest,
That ancient voice that breaks my rest.
Do I want wholeness? Can it be—
When I’ve known pain more faithfully?
Part of me cries yes!—I ache
To feel what true surrender takes.
Yet part is wrapped in silent dread,
Afraid to walk where I’ve not tread.
But faith steps out where sight can’t go,
And healing comes not fast, but slow.
Still, I believe—He sees it all:
My wounds, my weight, my stunted crawl.
He speaks, and I must rise and stand—
Not just in mind, but heart and hand.
Like him, I’ll lift my mat and move,
For grace is here—not mine to prove.
The walk is hard. I won’t pretend.
But I answer the call, my Friend.
WoPoLi 
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