Miracles, sure, thousands of years ago.
Miracles today? Lord, I believe,
help my unbelief. Even in my great grandfather’s time.
Credible witnesses I know well, so belief comes easier
than distrust in the reports. Past miracles, incredible.
Yet credible. And safely in the past.
But what of the promises?
New freedom, new happiness,
no regret about the past nor urge to shut the door.
Comprehend serenity, know peace? And more.
Miracles for sure, but happening. But fishes, loaves
abundantly? Lazarus, buried three days?
The man with the withered hand…. That’s the kicker
right now, so personal, so impossible. Woe ye, me,
of diminutive faith.  Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.