When an old man cries at night in bed, Lord,
comfort his heart.
It is a giant heart, full of the best to give.
He just doesn’t know how.
The good, the kind, the love is buried underneath
layers upon layers.
There is resentment, there is bitterness,
there is whole heap of frustration,
there is a mount of doubt,
a pile of not knowing, a stack of duties,
and at the very bottom of it all is pain.
It’s a pain that emanates from loving much.
The greater the pain, the greater the love
and so much love there was in the beginning.
It was just the wrong kind.
It must still be there, it is just buried.
After so many years of rejection
and judgment because he loved much;
especially those unacceptable to love.
And all his life wasted upon that one deed,
that holy “sin” that few others could understand,
but what was furthest from the truth.
Now, in old age, trapped in desperation
he lies awake at night,
the weight of Gibraltar on is shoulders.
He is internally dying away, waning
under the pressure immense as a giant.
He thinks he can endure only to the end
and even that is too far away for comfort.
So alone he lies in his bed burdened
and defeated, never to release the exuberance within
unless he, and he alone, makes the choice.
The rest of the world can only lead
him to the cross.
It is up to him to meet the Savior ready
to drink from his cup of living water.
So at night, when an old man cries, Lord,
comfort his heart.
Strip off his fears, wipe away his tears.
Speak quiet words of love into his bitter soul.
And turn him into Joy’s radiating embrace.
Lilly Costea 