As I climb this hill or burdened sin,
My soul cries out, asking why I run against this wind.
I cry back, "I do it for the Lord!"
For the wind was sent by Him.
These thrashing whisps of prickly gusts,
Slap against my sweat-stained face.
But I continue on.
For I know the Lord would not have sent them,
If He knew I would sit back,
And let them pass.
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