Notes About The Poem
No amount of personal sacrifice or total surrender can ever earn divine grace, but can only lay itself bare in hopes of being received.
My Humble Offering
A master weaver working infinite looms,
Who spans the endless dark with silver thread,
An architect of stars and quiet rooms,
Who breathed upon the dust to wake the dead.
The steady pulse beneath the ocean’s chest,
The potter’s fingers shaping living clay,
A silent shore where weary orbits rest,
The origin of night and light of day.
Yet between my fragile heart and your boundless grace
Lies a canyon carved by human doubt and space—
A wide expanse no ship could ever cross,
Where earthly wisdom turns to total loss.
To seek your favor and your gentle eye,
I’d lay my stubborn pride down in the dust.
I’d give up every dream beneath the sky,
And place my broken plans in total trust.
I’d walk through silent sands without a word,
And offer up the quiet pain I bear,
Praying that my heartbeat might be heard,
Surrendering my life into your care.
I bring my open hands, my breath, my song,
And lay my heart where it has belonged.
I offer up all that I am, and all I try to do—
Is a yield like mine enough to reach to you?
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