All the day you have shadowed my horizon,
Looming large in my sight each time
I glance up from my working hands.
“Come,” you whisper on eager winds
As they fly past me, and around again.
I want to be ready for you,
And so I toil here, failing in my humanity
To prepare for the divine. Instead,
All I can do is scoop my broken pottery,
Give them up to your capable hands.
You take them into yourself,
And begin to rain in my desert.
I lift my face to you, tasting grace
In each drop as they fall.
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be! TRUST JESUS NOW
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