Dear God

Itís a hard life here on earth. Could a perfect God really understand what life here is like?

Dear God Iím writing to you Ďcos Iím feeling sort of down,

The catís been sick, the kids are crook, the car broke down in town,

Iím late for work, the toast is cold, thereís someone in the loo,

Iím in the red, the milks gone green, Iím understandíbly blue,

Iím not one to complain that much, just thought Iíd let you know,

If this goes on much longer, I think my top will blow

Iím going broke, Iím going bald, I think Iím going mad,

The T.V. bust, the footyís on, and my wife is actually glad!

My socks are odd, Iíve no clean shirts, the ironís on the blink,

My back is sore, toys on the floor and dog food in the sink,

Itís just not fair, I canít go on, I donít know where to turn,

Iíd rather you just told me if thereís something here to learn

Iím overworked, Iím overweight, I think Iím underfed,

Iím paid too low, the trainís too slow, I need to go to bed,

The pressures on on every front, the bills arenít getting paid,

My team canít win, my kids canít spell, my coffee isnít made,

I donít know why you let me get so far up this damn creek,

Youíve certainly succeeded if you want me feeling weak

Thereís HIV and GST and PMT as well,

Thereís suicide and homicide and other sorts of hell,

Storms and quakes and famines, cyclones, fire, floods and more,

Drinking drivers, gambling, drugs and crime and hate and war,

I just donít understand the reason you let things get this way,

Perhaps you just donít understand the pain of life today!

Sometimes I wish that you could walk a mile or two with me,

Put yourself in my shoes and I think that you would see,

That things here arenít so lovely, that things often donít go well,

That life hereís less like heaven, this life is more like hell,

I guess if you could be here, if you lived a while as man,

You could feel the things I feel, and maybe understand

Oh God, how blind and stupid I have been, forgive me please,

My memoryís short, Gethsemene, your son down on his knees,

If you could take this from me, take this cup of blood and tears,

Take the judgement and the whipping, take the ridicule and jeers,

Take the thirty coins of silver, take the rooster crowing too,

Take the crown of thorns and nails, Oh God what must I do,

Take the taunts and grief and darkness, take the dice and sponge of wine,

But Father now as always, let Your will be done, not mine


Dean Herring.  ©2001

Copyright Dean Herring, all rights reserved. This poem may be performed publicly without royalty provided no entrance fee is charged. In return, the author would appreciate being notified of any performance. He may be contacted at