Your Daughter ~a poem by Leslie Pressley

Who am I to question You?
The One who causes the sun to rise
and the moon to glow
Who am I to question You?
The Maker of all things great and small
He who makes it all so.

Who am I to question You?
You, who spoke creation into place,
a wonderment to mere man,
no words can voice...
You, who gave poor dust here below
the heart to make his choice.

Who am I to question You?
My breath You give me to breathe,
helpless, am I, without Your help.
Giver of Life, Almighty God
it is my life that You have kept.

Who am I to question You?
You, who give me my Strength for each day.
You give me Rest for my enervate state,
my very health in my bones is a portion of You,
my faith I will not abate.

Who am I to question You?
I am a tiny speck, an insignificant being
who deserves nothing...no answer from You.
Not worthy of this life, or of the life to come,
yet, Your Love has made me new.

Who am I to question You?
The Savior...who gave His all...
whose Love is so great, that it could rescue my soul,
my Jesus, my Lord, my All...who am I?
That You would love me, and save me and make me whole.

Who am I to question You?
I am Your daughter now...though I humbly approach my Lord,
I dare not question, yet I follow in Faith with total commitment,
trusting Your very Word.

"Unraveled" ~a poem by Leslie Pressley

Unraveled

Feeling like a cloth
worn and fragile,
tossed about, used and falling apart.
Threads are beginning to show,
thoughtless minds pull and tear at the threads,
and more damage is done.
Some, carefully hold the cloth,
noticing how delicate and worn it has become.
Still, other warped souls
hold the cloth too tight,
further crushing it in their twisted fists,
only to drop it and leave on a bottomless floor.
Unraveled, one thread at a time,
pulled apart, held together only by
tiny elements of promise.
Cast about by life's breeze,
left out in life's storms.
More threads are exposed.
Until the Master's Hand lifts the matter,
the rag that I've become.
He takes the unraveled pieces,
carefully mending them together.
Removing parts that He could not use.
Washing the cloth, it is spotless.
Holding it in His nail-pierced hand,
it is no longer an unraveled life.
His hands made something beautiful
out of what the world considered to be
useless.

2/22/12 ~thank you Jesus

"Carried by the Master" a poem by Leslie Pressley

If there were a life with no trials,
there would be no mountain to climb.
My life would be meaningless,
just an existence in time.

My faith could not grow,
for I could not see,
that it is Jesus who is carrying me.
With every step, leaning on Him, He makes the burden light,
He carries me through the valley, reminding me
that the end is just in sight.

He is my Strength, my Rock, my Friend,
He is always on my mind, and in my heart and I dream
of meeting Him in the end.

Heaven is waiting, His face is the first I want to see,
Because He died for me, rose again...and I know
He carried me.

12/21/11

"Cold Skies" a poem by Leslie Pressley

Cold Skies

creamy, feathery veil hangs above
swirls of silk, milky frost, white as a dove
Wintry sky, numbing, chilled, arctic firmament
like a heart...empty, void of a love sent
where birds cannot fly, nor the love of you and I
cold space, stillness of hope to soar
away from the gloom of gray
on to the brighter day.

"September Morning" a poem by Leslie Pressley

Awake and rise to the serenade
outside beyond my window sill,
morning awaits with hints of Autumn falling near.
Crisp air awakens the senses
sweeping over me like a refreshing mountain stream,
the burnt leaves of Summer soon falling
onto the sleeping soil,
it waits for September to bring relief,
just as we also wait, we look up in anticipation,
Are we asleep?
Signs everywhere, the air drifts about with alarm,
like the chilled Autumn air about us, it warns of what's to come.
Our freedoms being burnt up in the heat of the enemy,
while the leaves of Summer fall,
look up, do not fall asleep...

Silence in the Shadow

Gray, broken, contrite am I,
as I follow your life so close behind.
Wrapped in a darkness,
engulfing my form.
A shadow of mystery out of the light born.
Always a step behind you,
I try to keep up...
tracing your steps, I chase you,
it's you that I love.
My condition keeps me trapped,
a distance apart,
longing to reach you,
needing your heart.
Silence in this shadow,
I hide and wait...
never knowing why my existence
and what becomes my fate.
I want to walk with you,
in the light of the day.
As long as I am a shadow,
I cannot find my way.

"Soft Sunlight" a poem by Leslie Pressley

A daisy bends down to touch the ground
and then stretches forth to reach the sun,
soft sunlight brushes the tiny leaves
and warms the petals that adorn.

To be as the flower, to reach to my Maker
for His praise I would extend my ivory blades.
A drop of sunshine feeds the center,
as morning breaks melts the milky dew.

Nurture me with soft sunrays,
fill my foundation with tears from above
and as I incline for the dark of night,
I will rest in the comfort of Your love.

~a poem to my Jesus before I fall asleep tonight~