Oxygen from Psalm 22:14-18 (Salutamus!)

 14 My life is poured out like water,   

      and all my bones are out of joint. 

     My heart is like wax, 

      melting within my bowels. 

 15 My strength has dried up like sunbaked clay. 

      My tongue sticks to my jaws. 

      You have laid me in the dust and left me for dead. 

 16 My enemies surround me like a pack of dogs; 

      an evil gang closes in on me. 

      They have pierced my hands and feet. 

 17 I can count all my bones. 

      My enemies stare at me and gloat. 

 18 They divide my garments among themselves 

      and throw dice for my clothing.

(Psalm 22:14-18) 

Precious Lord:

We who are about to die salute You!

said the gladiators in the pit,

knowing that their squandered life was done,

now was forfeit to a greater power.

So, those of us who feel the drain of health

surrender to Your pleasure all in time.

Though all are dying, healthy rarely feel

ebbing strength in death's fierce undertow.

On the cross you suffered brutal agony,

a suffocation such as I may know

over months and years of dying slow,

carrying the cross of my fibrosis.

Crucifixion was not really bloody;

its victims perished for lack of strength to breathe.

More exquisite torture was ne'er invented;

let the victim's breathing drive his agony.  

My disease is nothing when compared

to Your passion's sacrificial death.

You are ever faithful to Your promise:

Nothing separates us from your love. 

So, no lamenting cry I make to You, 

no self-pity, only thankfulness.

My genetics have so blessed my life

this is such a smallish price to pay.

I confess with generations blessed,

I can do all things through Christ, my Strength. (Phil. 4:13)

I do not walk this dead-end trail alone;

You my suffering shared and render joyful.

Savior, let me find such solace in Your Word

as You found upon that Roman tree of death.

When tongue cannot recite, let my mind so feed

upon a greater bread sufficient to the day.

I a transplant hope my pain to end;

You had no hope or help but Father's grace.

Oh Lord -- somewhere, someone known to You

will have to die my prayers to answer.

Sanctify my quest for body healing;

Make my drive to live an offering,

laid upon the the altar of Your love,

that not my will, O Lord,  but Thine be done.

Should Your gracious will extend my life,

may I never live again for self,

freed to be a trophy of your mercy.

Let me ne'er forget: two people died for me.

We about to die salute You, Lord,

hold You dear, more dear than fragile breath.

Claim me from your cross like John and Mary,

while stronger cynics gamble Pascal's wager. 

Amen.