Thank you, God.
For my place.
Under your great and gracious skies.
For a house, a tree, a swing.
For beauty that is small and precious.
I praise You,
For You are the Giver
Of all good things.
You bring into my life
Each day,
A task that is as humble as a broom.
You say--Sweep!
There is a friend to be listened to...
A card to be sent,
A home to be cared for.
Sometimes,
I sweep dust
Into my own face.
I could just cry.
I feel so clumsy, so ordinary,
So unfit for Your Holy calling.
But when I get tired
You take away my broom,
And You sit me down
On a bench,
For a drink of lemonade.
I realize that I haven't minded the job.
There are golden glints in the straw.
Soon, I'm ready to sweep again.
With hands that are more tender
And a heart that is more willing to be taught.
I praise You, Lord,
Suffering servant, and victorious King,
For the privilege of taking
Even one stroke...
With my broom.
~Anon.
Why I am taking a blogging break...
image from Big Stock Photo
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