Tuesday, October 7, 2014

a prayer

The trees tremble in their trunks, holding long necks aloft to gaze at the heavens, screaming to all who will listen that Christ is Lord. I am but a rib cage before You, cracking and crafted out of the earth, woven from the ground. I was intended to be art, a living poem. And I was made to know You. But I am full of blackened things and false motives.

In my weakness, be the Shout of resounding strength.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Go with grace.