WRITING
This morning I managed to still my breath
to hear the voice within tell me
to step away from the conversation,
to push away from the table
long enough
to pay attention to the words
laying at the threshold of my heart.
Others will always companion me
along this uncharted journey, their fingerprints
joining those of thousands whose hands
have shaped the clay of my soul.
But the final touch on the Potter’s wheel
is reserved for the One who formed me
in my mother’s womb and leads me still.
With whispered words He summons me
along a path strewn with stories
waiting to be heard by fellow travelers
who hear the call to Home.
I’ll gladly sit now in a dimly lit corner
where I’ll pray and let His words
fall freely out of my pen.
This morning I managed to still my breath
to hear the voice within tell me
to step away from the conversation,
to push away from the table
long enough
to pay attention to the words
laying at the threshold of my heart.
Others will always companion me
along this uncharted journey, their fingerprints
joining those of thousands whose hands
have shaped the clay of my soul.
But the final touch on the Potter’s wheel
is reserved for the One who formed me
in my mother’s womb and leads me still.
With whispered words He summons me
along a path strewn with stories
waiting to be heard by fellow travelers
who hear the call to Home.
I’ll gladly sit now in a dimly lit corner
where I’ll pray and let His words
fall freely out of my pen.
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