*image generated with AI, November 2022

I stumble, hands too weak to hold
the weight You’ve placed unto them.
I’m no Moses, no Gideon—certainly no saint—
just a voice caught hiding in the cracks of silence.

Yet You call me, as if I’ve something to offer,
though my hands are empty,
my heart unsure,
my countenance weak.

Why me, God?
Why choose what’s broken,
when the world contains so much more?

But in the quiet, Your reminder echoes—
It’s not about strength, not about skill,
but grace, a power that fills the hollow spaces.

You choose the weak
to show the world You are strong,
so even in my unworthiness,
Your glory shines.

In my worldly nothingness,
I trust in your omnipotent fullness.
As You will it,
make it so, Lord.