I bend to be formed,
not torn or broken
but tempered by heat,
a fire so hot
the white is all
You see of me.
I said “change” and “grow”
and I’m bent so low
this shape of me
is screaming–
melting brass in Your
hands, forged by
tools so strong
I fear the breaking.
But I’m bound to bend,
be shaped, sheared
shown anew
the sound of me,
the shine of me,
gleaming glory.
Yes, choosing to bend
not break,
become the beautiful
breath of sudden sound
built by your Spirit (breath)
living notes
played through me
a golden song borne on the wind….
The last few weeks have been a challenge for me, serving my husband as he convalesces.
It’s been hard
But God always manages to take the hard and make it easier when I get it down on paper.
I posted this over at my other place  ‘another facet’ earlier this week and thought you might enjoy it, too. 
Linking with the lovely Emily over at Imperfect Prose Thursdays.

4 thoughts on “Crucible

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