A Moment at the Well
Oh, I do believe I hear a voice
still and small,
neither carried by wind
nor born of a storm,
not quite audible,
but very clear:
(I did ask, afterall, to know Purpose
that I might grasp it
with both hands.)
"You did not choose
Me. I chose you to go ...
Now go. Just go
to wherever I send you. And love."
Now, here I am,
where I am, who I am.
Sinful. Sealed. Human.
Grace and Beauty
And, oh, my God,
They are beautiful!
Every last gem!
Fearfully, wonderfully made,
pliable clay in the Potter's hands,
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