When I take the pen in my hand
It is amazing even to me
To watch the words form on the paper
And they come so easily
They come from somewhere within me
A place that God only knows
They flow to somewhere else within me
A place that God only goes
I am moved when I read them
Just as I am doing right now
I often shake my head in wonder
And sometimes question "how?"
I know the answer to this question
For to me the talent was sent
I have not embraced it all of my life
Yet now I am my God's instrument
I used to want to write for fame
And publish the perfect book
With the lead a fine wonderful brother
The kind that all women do look
I knew this book would sell, you see
For this man would be almost flawless
Now he'd have had just enough to keep him human
But you'd love him-wasn't I a mess?
Then my God allow my life to take
Some turns in different directions
I had many storms, suffered great loss
And my writing became my only possession
So I began to move me out of the way
And seek the will of God
He gave me something to write with each new day
And this writing became my job
He has used me in ways which move my soul
In ways that I hold dear
He has used me to give hugs to His people
When I write, His anointing is always here
I write by hand
I write by type
I write in the mornings
And way into the night
He has given me poems
He has given me books
He has given me essays
And here is the hook:
All words that God has given me
I write them just as they are
I will not change one jot or tittle
And God will bless the heart
Of each man and woman that shall read
Each soul that has been sent
Each heart shall feel the touch of his presence
As long as I remain HIS instrument
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