An Imaginary Visit With Jesus

Sometimes I get to sighing
And wish that I could see
The Saviour come a-knocking

To spend the day with me.
I'd tell Him all my troubles
(Guess that isn't very nice,)
And listen very quietly
To His gentle, wise, advise.

"Lord, the little one's are fussing,

And I don't know what to do:
Do I blame too much on sister

When brother's guilty, too?

And Lord, you know the dishes

Are waiting to be done,

But the children all are resting

And I'm the weary one. 

Should I pursue them with a vigor

And ignore my aching head,

Or is it more submissive

To recline upon the bed?
Yes, Lord there are so many things,

You see them one and all:

The crumbs beneath the table,

The marks upon the wall.

The little girl is aiming;

Should I cuddle her right now

She complains of aching limbs, y'know:
I touch her fevered brow.

I guess I could ask hubby,

He is your Messenger,

And just accept whate'er he says

And with some faith endure.

Marilyn Friesen

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