Dear God, a humble prayer I raise, In whispered tones at break of day.“ Use me,” I plea, in all your ways, As morning light outlines the gray.
“Change me,” I ask, with fervent heart, Mold me like clay beneath your hands. From old to new, a fresh new start, Align my steps with your commands.
“Make me anew,” a quiet vow, Reshape my soul, refine my fire. In your presence, I humbly bow, Transform me, lift me ever higher.
As you work your will, so vast and wide, In my life, a canvas blank and bare, Paint strokes of grace, let love abide, Under your care, I place each care.
In verdant fields where soft winds sway, The shepherd’s call, at break of day, Guides us where peaceful waters flow, In paths where only the righteous go.
The better we know our guiding hand, Less fear we hold, on this vast land. His voice, a beacon, firm and true, In mists of doubt, it leads us through.
For strangers’ calls may lead astray, To shadowed vales, far from the way. But his warm tones, so deep and wise, Light up the stars in darkened skies.
So cling to words from lips that care, And find in him solace from despair. The more his essence we embrace, The less we’ll chase a fleeting chase.
In knowing him, we find our peace, In his embrace, all fears may cease. The shepherd true, his flock he knows, Wherever he leads, sure safety goes.
In the quiet heart’s uncertain murmur, Voices clash, divine or purely human? Scriptures lay out paths in ancient rumor, Yet daily life stirs questions more than an illusion
Pray, the sage advice, for clarity, Wisdom sought in whispers not in storms. The Bible, a light on paths we scarcely see, Its verses shield against the false in forms.
The Spirit prompts, yet so do darker powers, to What’s holy, masked in fleeting, tempting hours.
We study words divine, the scriptures’ call, To judge each fleeting thought, each subtle pull. The Holy Spirit guides, through thick and thin, Ensuring fruits of love and peace within.
But questions loom like shadows in the mind, Is this God’s voice, or another kind? Test each spirit, counsel wise and old, For God’s true path is peace, not whispers cold.
With mentors’ words and scripture as our guide, We navigate life’s seas, with God beside. The Good Shepherd leads, His voice so clear, In Him, we trust, without doubt or fear.
A friend loves at all times, with a heart sincere, Through seasons of joy, through shadows of fear. Unwavering, steadfast, a beacon so bright, A solace in darkness, in sorrow’s harsh night.
And born of such trials, when troubles amass, A brother emerges, as strong as brass. In adversity’s clutch, where hardships are rife, He stands by your side, defending through strife.
Together, entwined by the threads of pure care, In storms and in calm, a bond rare and fair. For love knows no bounds, and kinship no end, A friend and a brother, on whom you depend.
Pro 17:17 A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.
In the Valley of Cancer, I tread softly, With faith as my guide, where shadows loom large. Trusting in God’s embrace, unseen but felt, Through paths where light and dark converge.
Healing whispers in the winds of grace, A journey not walked in solitude. Each step a testament, every breath a prayer, Where victories are woven in fortitude.
Beyond this vale, the promise of dawn, Bright with the hues of hope’s gentle spread. I carry on, heart bound to divine threads, Believing in the triumphs that lie ahead.
Rain taps at the window, a gentle, steady drum, Clouds cradle the sky in a somber, grey hum.The world outside whispers, soft and gray, Perfect for bean soup and cornbread day.
In the kitchen, the pot sings a bubbling tune, Rich aromas dance under the sleepy noon. Beans simmering, a hearty, warm ballet, Cornbread golden, in the oven’s sway.
Outside, the rain sketches paths on the glass, Inside, comfort foods convene en masse. Together they meld in a perfect array, On this quiet, nurturing, rainy day.
Pull up a chair, let the warmth cascade, Savor each spoonful, in buttery shade. For nothing quite lifts the spirits this way, Like bean soup and cornbread to brighten the day.
In the quiet hours, beneath the silvered hue, I fold my hands, grappling with what is true. Not to command the heavens, nor chart the skies, But to whisper the worries that within me lie.
I can’t steer the stars, nor mold the divine plan, I’m just a sojourner, doing all that I can. To the vast, unseen Listener above the thrum, I speak my heart and pray, “Thy Will be done.”
For in the tapestry, where cosmic threads intertwine, My voice is faint—a mere echo in the divine. Yet in humble tones, I relinquish my plea, A fragile hope cast on an eternal sea.
Not to alter the winds, or calm the raging storm, But to trust the One who holds all form. In the stillness, my spirit seeks to align With the pulse of the sacred, the timeless, the divine.
So I lay down my wishes, my dreams, my fears, In the lap of the Infinite, beyond the sphere. And though I can’t command, nor the outcomes see, In this act of surrender, there’s a profound liberty.
For faith is not forcing one’s will to be done, But embracing the dance with the Holy One. Thus, with each tender prayer that I compose, I find peace in the promise that He knows.
