Three-Year-Old Poem

First of all, the photo has absolutely nothing to do with this poem. But who doesn’t like knotholes on old doors?:)

As the title says, I wrote this poem three years ago this spring. At the time, it was my pride and joy. While I can now see many of its flaws, it still holds a special place in my heart. One of the reasons I love it is because it points me back to simple truth. I hope it can be a blessing to you, as well.

I don’t understand.

I don’t.

There are times, Lord,

When I,

The pen in Your hand,

Long to

Spring from Your mighty

All-knowing

Grasp, with a cry of,

“No, no!

That isn’t the way!

Here!

Let me show You how!”

But that

Is as silly as a toddler

Grasping

The brush of a masterful artist.

A clock

Does no good without clockwork

And so

I do no good without You.

With no

Master I lie here, my ink pouring

Out

A miserable, meaningless

Blot.

But in Your loving hand

My life

Is a song – a beautiful witness

To You.

So here – take my tears, though many

There be

And do what You will with them.

And here –

Take my years, though few they may

Be

And use them to glorify

You.