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