(A David song for pilgrims on the road up to Zion.)
I don’t think too highly of myself, Yahweh.
The world doesn’t revolve around me.
I’m not the center of every conversation.
I’m no know-it-all.
I’ve pulled the plug
On me-first ambition.
My soul is content.
I sleep like a baby,
Milk-full after nursing
In mama’s arms.
Yes, I sleep like a baby,
Content.
Be patient, Israel.
Hopeful.
It’s Yahweh who holds you.
Now.
Always.