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.
There are times, Lord,
The pen in Your hand,
Spring from Your mighty
Grasp, with a cry of,
That isn’t the way!
Let me show You how!”
Is as silly as a toddler
The brush of a masterful artist.
Does no good without clockwork
I do no good without You.
Master I lie here, my ink pouring
A miserable, meaningless
But in Your loving hand
Is a song – a beautiful witness
So here – take my tears, though many
And do what You will with them.
And here –
Take my years, though few they may
And use them to glorify