Sculpt

 

Sculpt

 

Water.

Wind.

Air.

Fire.

Earth.

Mud.

Trees.

Flowers.

Every bit of all I see.

Bends, and submits to God’s will.

It follows something greater.

And conforms.

To a divine blueprint.

Freely.

And gives itself to a higher power.

The olive seed submits to the soil.

It grows, and submits to being turned to oil.

The grain is crushed and turned to flour. And is turned to bread. And fuel, and it gives its power.

Sand submits to the heat, turned to glass.

So we have a cup in which to drink.

And paper submits to the ink.

And ink to the will of the hand.

And the hand to the will of the heart of God.

A higher wisdom.

A greater thought.

Trees submit to sky and rain, they let all things be whatever their aim.

And so, as I look down deep.

I bow my knee, and bend my head.

And submit.

And let God, rule.

In my ego’s stead.

I give my branches back To God.

I lay down my will.

And submit to the word.

The divine will, the truth, the life, the love, the living rod.

I see that all creation flows and quietly bends and follows.

I let a will much bigger than mine.

Be what guides.

I’ll let the wind, and rain, and water, sculpt me, I will be the clay in a hand of the author, the heart, the greatest potter.

Like the air, submitting to a sound.

I see that as we bow our knee.

We let God’s spirit move us.

Like wind in a tree.