It was there that,
Despite knowing well ahead that I would fall behind and lapse into regression,
You still asked me to come along,
into the secret place,
into that Beautiful Garden.
It was a place where You spoke to Him,
and where You called me to speak to Him.
But I was lost in my sinful stupor,
unwilling to break out of that lulling cycle.
Yet You prodded me, not once but thrice.
But still, I drifted away,
further from Your pleading eyes.
......Gethsemane, how could I forget...
the place where You prayed,
a place where You exhibited a full reliance,
not on Yourself, but in total entrustment to Him.
......Gethsemane, why should I neglect...
the call to a real faith,
a call to all the faithful,
not without substance, but in full experiential belief of His suffering.
---
As I drew closer to Your Gethsemane,
I pondered and my heart stopped dead,
for a moment or two,
I was lost in Your comforting grace,
And as I asked myself,
"Even when I've forsaken You already, why do You still want me?"
You stood still in the silence and held on to my hand.
At Your Gethsemane,
my hands could not proceed,
No, they would not advance on the keys.
It was too painful, not on myself, but on You.
For I had pricked the fingers of Your hand,
I had pierced Your heart with my defiance.
Still, still, Your Hand was there, and You told me to go ahead,
and in redemptive motion, You guided my hands
to play for You,
only for You.
