I had no say in the time of my birth|
neither the time of my death am I able to see,
but what I do with the life I've been afforded
is solely and completely up to me.
Each day that I'm given is a fresh canvas to paint
with my choices, actions and deeds,
How the painting turns out will also reveal
If my choices caused me to be bound or be freed.
Too often the lines in the painting of my life
have become blurred by indecision or fear,
The choices I should make are as tumultuous weights
and my canvas becomes murky and unclear.
It is then as my canvas hangs in complete disarray
and in my feebleness I grasp out in need of a crutch,
That I feel both the strength and gentleness
in the hands of the Masters touch.
Quietly he looks over the canvas of my life
as tears begin to roll down my face,
Father, I am sorry for the mess I have made
my canvas has become a disgrace.
With a tear in His eye he holds out His hand
and says, my son all of your life I have seen,
and as before me you bow with tear filled eyes
your canvas I have made clean.
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