Sometimes I want to cut if weaker parts
Of my character and personality,
But as I do, I see it's not so smart
To mutilate my heart, diminish me.

A lump of clay, chopped fine, is simply dirt--
So, reason dictates, sculpting will produce
Well-rounded strength and beauty without hurt,
And make a me much better fit for use.

But how to mend such cracks and flaws as mine?
And what about the pieces on the floor?
My prayer is answered by a love Divine
A beckoning call to enter at His door.

The Living Water of our Savior's love
Is moisture meant to soften mortal clay
At any stage of life, to lift above
The shattered, brittle remnants by the way.

If we allow, he gathers, smooths again
Each wandering, dry, degenerating crumb;
By obedience and faith the race of men
May works of art in holiness become.
by Cindy Loggins Hale