Messy me

I am a mess, woven in clay, wrapped up in yarn, and presented to the world.

You may see me strung or unstrung, strong or weak

Flesh and bone or fierce.

With every thread I hang on to the maker of the tapestry.

Because that’s all that matters.

Broken and fragmented, waiting for the hands of the sculptor.

And it isn’t weak to wait.

Bravery stands at the edge of a precipice and waits for instruction before flying.

Bravery is being willing to rest at the feet of something greater and be still.

So here I am Lord, use me however.

Bravery is being fully yours!