Line by line, word by word;
Words on the page written by me.
Me, an author, even though I am unpublished;
Unpublished to the world.
Worldly things do not matter.
What matters is that I write for the Lord;
The Lord who gave me this gift of the written word.
Words given me by Him.
Him who beautifully and wonderfully knit me together;
Together cell by cell in my mother’s womb hidden from view.
But He viewed me – He knew that I was born to write;
I write only for Jesus.
Oh Jesus, my guide, my teacher,
My teacher so good and kind
You kindly lead me down each story trail,
Or the trail of poetry.
The poetry which can be rhyming or free;
A free way to express myself in many ways.
Ways that I cannot express aloud.
For aloud, they don’t come out – my words flop on the ground.
So Jesus takes them off the ground and puts them in my hand
A hand that uses a pen or a keyboard,
And through that keyboard, I create, and he tells me,
“Michelle, through me, you are born to write.”
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