Literary Wanderings: George MacDonald #12

This is the final section of Diary of an Old Soul. I read it four times last month and nothing stirred me.

But today... today I am weary of soul and ol' George felt it too. A few weeks of walking the same path, of climbing the same dry hills has left me feeling empty. Empty of purpose and empty of joy. There's only so many times you can pick up the same toy or wash the same dish or fold the same shirt before it begins to take on the hues of insanity. This high calling starts to feel like chains to my flesh, my pride demands recognition and I start looking for escape.

I don't want to run to idols. My God is jealous for my love. He doesn't ask me to love the dishes or the laundry or the endless movement of things through my home; My God wants me to love Him. He's not created me for glamour or fame; I was created to serve right here. And He pours out to overflowing the hope and the joy and the self-less love that my self-full heart needs.

1.
I AM a little weary of my life--
Not thy life, blessed Father! Or the blood
Too slowly laves the coral shores of thought,
Or I am weary of weariness and strife.
Open my soul-gates to thy living flood;
I ask not larger heart-throbs, vigour-fraught,
I pray thy presence, with strong patience rife.

2.
I will what thou will'st--only keep me sure
That thou art willing; call to me now and then.
So, ceasing to enjoy, I shall endure
With perfect patience--willing beyond my ken
Beyond my love, beyond my thinking scope;
Willing to be because thy will is pure;
Willing thy will beyond all bounds of hope.