There’s that one little spot that keeps on itching.
Even reaching it just doesn’t bring relief.
My mind believes that I’ll go crazy without scratching.
My heart knows that it is really self-made grief.
The One Who Scratches is willing to relieve me.
Yet I keep thinking that I will get it done.
I see surrender as a weakness with no quarter
When all along He has made sure that the battle’s won.
I turn to ME to get solutions for that itching,
but satisfaction is a temporary find.
I grit my teeth with a determined prideful fervor
and find my scratching never seems to ease my mind.
The fruitless efforts of my nubby little fingers
just prolongs the indefatigable pain.
I finally see the soothing lotion of the Master,
that death to self is the beginning of true gain.
There is no spot that can’t be reached through my Savior.
There is no itch that can’t be scratched when in the Word.
Why did I struggle in my own imagined power
when all along I needed Him to be my Lord.
