i wrestle,
a process of spiritual sweat and strife.
Something tells me He’s practicing restraint
because He has fire from heaven in His Back Pocket.
The fight is not so much about His providence.
He wars through every doubt i cast with unflinching resolve.
i ask for time and He returns when i am ready.
a smile on His face reminds me that He personifies the tsunami
as i race toward the crest.
He dares me and augments the battle
because i am His warrior son
striving
straining
crying out
and i am growing stronger
with every move
because this exhibition is the prelude of holiness.
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