Poetry

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My Own Daily Bread 9/6/08

Oh, Father, how You have blessed me so,
When all I've done is commit to follow.
I feel I am only an instrument,
It is You Who deserves the compliment.

It is You Who gives me the phrases,
And in my mind, the idea raises.
In the morning hours I come to listen,
I push the pen and see the ink glisten.

I see develop before my own eyes,
Either wisdom or Your plaintive cries.
Sometimes it's an allegory or two,
But I always know, it is of You.

People appreciate what has been done,
And I try to tell them You are the One,
Who gives all these blessed poems to me.
To honor Yourself and set captives free.

I don't know what is of me or of You,
It seems I have so little to do;
Listen and comply in obedience,
Breathe and soak in Your Omnipresence.

I am not sure where I fit in this plan,
I see myself as the middle-woman.
You give and I take and try to spread,
What I see as my own Daily Bread.

What do You want out of this for me,
If there should anything be?
I feel as if my blessing's been given,
Doing Your will is what makes me driven.

So show me Your will in all of this,
Make known plain to me Your every wish.
In each line let them see Your own face,
And make it known this is by Your grace.

I've been given the blessing, now it's theirs.
This is the beginning of my affairs.
Now to pass it on to glorify You,
Is the only thing left for me to do.

Thank You, my awesome God and Lord,
For giving me this to look toward.
My time with You now seems complete,
As with You I go, the day to meet

Copyright 2008 by Brenda LaVelle

Always, in all ways, to God the honor and glory!

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