I know… poetry ranked lowest on the poll I posted a couple of weeks ago (a huge thank you to everyone who answered that!). But my mind has felt like Jell-O recently, so I’m drawing from the reserves today.:) Hopefully my brains will be back soon, and I’ll have a little more to offer you guys!
Anyway…
This is a poem written by my fifteen-year-old self. It came into being one night when I was really struggling to accept what God was doing with a situation in my life. Now, in volatile 2020, it’s a blessing to come back to this poem again and be reminded of where God wants my heart to be.
This is one of the first freestyle poems I wrote… and though it’s not quite as fantastic as I used to think it was :), I hope it’s a blessing to you today.
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 ditch-digger
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.
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
Laurel Luehmann 