Poetry

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I look at the cards that I’ve been dealt,
And often, to my shame,
I slap my hand to the table
And want to call the game.

I say that its not fair at all
To have to play this hand
When I sat down at this table
It’s not what I had planned.

Oh, what a foolish, stubborn heart
To lift up self and say
Unless I’m given better cards
I do not want to play.

So, give me wisdom Holy King,
And grace to understand
No matter what’s been dealt to me
The aces are in Your hands.

And so I sit here quietly,
And wait upon Your plan
And watch with anticipation
As You take every hand

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