Saturation
Morning mist upon the hills,
so is my life, so briefly lived.
Did my presence cloud the scene
or living water did I give?
I soaked the Word, absorbed the truth
‘til no more could I hold.
Then drought came and I grew dry;
a hardened sponge, decayed and old.
Useless! Yet I thirsted
for the water of His grace;
empty vessel kicked about
soon cracked and broken in every place.
Parched, blighted, full of holes
crying for a taste of wet.
Water, water I can hold,
don’t let me be forgotten yet!
Forgotten? No, I’m making new
the dry and useless thing I’ve found,
but to create a better vessel,
to rubble and dust you must be ground.
Then adding water, I can form
your brokenness to clay;
shape you, mold you on the potter’s wheel
a purpose give to you this day.
Draw up water from wells dug deep
in arid lands, by dusty roads.
So being filled, you spill it over
to thirsty ones with heavy loads.
Let them know this water bright
will quench their thirst forevermore;
springs of living waters flow
within their hearts, now restored.
Morning mist upon the hills,
so is my life, so briefly lived.
I know that I who cloud the scene,
also living water give.
- Wrenbird's blog
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