The Path of Truth
The point in my heart woke me up one day,
Not with trumpets or fire—just a quiet tug to pray.
I still had bills, flat tires, coffee gone cold,
Kids, work, aches, the same stories retold.
I thought the call meant peace, a softer road,
But life got heavier—I felt the load.
One problem hit, then another right through,
Not to break me apart, but to show what is true.
I lost my temper in traffic, pride at my job,
Got hurt by a word, then hurt back like a slob.
Nothing dramatic, no lightning or flame,
Just ego uncovered, again and again.
Every calamity showed me my face,
How I want to receive, how little I place
The friends before me, the goal before “me,”
How far my heart is from what it should be.
The car breaks down, the money runs thin,
Someone in the ten rubs salt in my skin.
I want to run, to be right, to be free—
And there it is: the real enemy.
Not the boss, not the wife, not fate or the day,
But the voice inside saying, “You come first—always.”
Each fall builds a hunger, a deeper request,
Not for comfort or calm, but to rise above self.
Slowly I learn why the pain shows its face:
To grow my deficiency, widen the space
Where love of the friends can finally sit,
Where the Creator can enter—bit by bit.
I stop asking “Why me?” and start asking “How?”
How do I help the ten, right here, right now?
How do I bow when my ego screams “Stand!”
How do I give with an empty hand?
This path isn’t pretty, it’s dusty and real,
Made of small choices, not flashes of zeal.
But every hard moment, wrapped gently in love,
Pushes my heart toward what’s waiting above.
From the first quiet call to Dvekut so true,
Every blow was a gift meant to shape something new.
This is the truth, simple, steady, and rough—
We’re broken on purpose…
so love is enough.
