Thursday, April 23, 2015

The Greatest of These


From my hands come the works of others,

Multiplied through me,

So I have none.

I do not want power

As the moment I feel strength,

I keel over and lose all control.

Let me sit in my weakness,

For there, true strength lies.

Alas, power is the enemy of faith.


I scoff at comfort.

Let life bring challenges and suffering,

Where I must endure with gratitude,

To mold my character,

Like a sharp sword,

That slices through and shapes my heart,

To reveal hope.

Yes, comfort is the enemy of hope.


I have had riches galore,

The admiration of the world,

Fame and fortune abounding,

But when I look back,

The only things I have kept,

Are the memories of giving,

When my abundance poured over into the lives of others,

The times I sacrificed what I might gain,

For the well being of another,

Purely for the sake of love.

And when I have loved,

I have been filled with love.

Yes, let me be last,

Of little significance,

Serving in secrecy,

With love.

No comments:

Post a Comment