All Glory His

Lord, You work through winds
and waves, bright rays, snow, and drought.
You judge sin, cravings, and wayward doubt
through methods we cannot understand.
We cannot come to plan Your ways,
Your breath on us,
Your choices that are all-wise and just.
What parts we play are wealth to some--
the proud who misconceive Your sole throne.
Your voice is truth. We are dust.
The glory is Yours alone.
We pray. We listen.
We trust.
You write the story, Lord.
May we never take credit for a miracle,
an answered prayer, or more--
the dealings with us creations.
You said it. You steer us all.
The mere patience of Your allowing us
to participate in Your will:
What a joy and honor!

Let us not toy with our importance,
remembering to don our foolish minds
with humility,
perchance we eclipse the glory of God
by claiming our hands were at work.
The futility! To murk the shine of shekinah?
Deny the naming of our plans,
the faming of our lips.

Lord, we ask for grace
and a place in Your purposes,
knowing we are clay
molded to Your services,
knowing the outside winds, waters, and trees
obey.
May we also bow--
on our knees, nay, on our faces--
and erase traces of our pride
now.