My Chariot

But a weathered old bay with wisdom in his eye,

And a young spry roan with excitement in his step,

And a short white pinto with ears pinned back,

And a palomino mare with two blue eyes.

Let the bay and the pinto step together,

And the roan and the blonde one pull behind;

They temper each other, young and old,

And let two sweet puppies run beside them.

When I arrive at the carriage stop,

Don’t let my chariot be of gild and brocade, 

But of soft smooth leather, 

Stitched with smiles and cleaned with tears;

And don’t let gold line my path to Your gates, 
But soft green grass and pale pink buttercups,

And let the scent of pine trees after a rain 

Waft before me toward Your house.

Lord, when I die in Your desert of life,
Let me, on my journey from grave to Home,

See the giants that I have faced in my life;
For I cannot live in Your land without making peace,

And I want to smile at them, meeting as friends at last.

I want to shake fear’s hand, 

For he helped me find courage;

I want to bow my head to grief, 

For he helped me know happiness;

And I want to kiss anger’s forehead, 

For he made me cherish peace;

And I want to congratulate doubt, 

Because he made me sure;

I want to hold hands with pain, 

For without him I wouldn’t know healing,

And I want to stand as equals with loneliness,

For she helped me to trust.

Let the laughter of the souls of my family 

Be the blanket I wrap around myself

As I near the end of this innumerable caravan;

Let me not see their faces, 

But rather fuse myself into their essence,

So that when I step down from the chariot 

And enter Your chamber of rest,

I will be warm and soothed,

Able to lie down in Your peace and enter, at last, 

Into pleasant dreams.