Will I If I Can'T- Question Mark

Will I if I can't? My will was mine, I'd blindly assert. These hurting hands attached to a machine mind, a Martha of tasks, each feat to complete, but scarcely succumbing to bask at Your feet. In dominance she wrote, she spun, she grasped. Now every tactile task leaves this tingling sting, a daily ache, a burdened burning. My extensors pressed against a fatal scar, a tearing toil to unloose a jar. Tenacious tendonitis, she overtakes. Moment by moment my heart laments, venting forgranted labor. Once pridefully capable, now I cry as a babe unable. A light switch flick was simpler with another limb. A door knob only turned if the toes took over. Yet even these members could render themselves helpless. Here lies a humble reminder, these hands were not mine. Stillness for weeks was the only relief, a lesson in restraint. Each complaint was a sin, but faith gave favor. Why was I sorrowful when Nick Vujicic is Yours? A borrower of amazing grace, a capable inspiration! His burden is greater, but mine was my own. Groaning within, this sin was jealously snatched. With this loss of idolatry, this burden is shared at the cross. With invisible sores, I now know my arm is Yours. Unable alone, I beg for your strength, but maybe weakness is greater. I am the pottery, You the skillful Creator. My mind is willful, but maybe You're making Your will to be mine.