I pray, Lord, for your wisdom,
That I might clearly see.
Give me your perspective…
Your thoughts regarding me.
Your Word reveals the fact
That I am wonderfully made,
Yet, like a flower
I quickly wither and fade,
A vapor -- a mist –
that’s here and then gone…
A lost soul apart from
your blood that atones.
I’m a treasure – that’s certain --
Your “masterpiece,”
Nevertheless destined
For my life to cease.
In your eyes I’m priceless,
Worth the death of your Son,
Yet, not of more value
Than any other one.
When the sum is calculated
Of my individual parts,
The elements that constitute
My flesh, my blood, my heart,
I rank embarrassingly low,
On the monetary scale,
In the marketplace
Where commodities are for sale.
It’s true, it’s a mystery…
A baffling paradox,
A door that you alone
Have the key to unlock.
So, what is the answer?
Where is the value found,
In those of us formed
From the dust of the ground?
This is the solution.
This is the mystery’s core.
It’s not in the created,
But the Creat-or.
The fact is, there is nothing
Of inherent value in me;
My worth is in the Designer…
Being his artistry.
God, I’m your magnum opus.
I’m the fruit of your labor…
The part of your creation
You have chosen to favor.
Formed by your hands –
The one who dwells above –
To Be the recipient
Of your unfathomable love.
And not only this,
Was I created for,
Though it’s incomprehensible
Your Word reveals even more.
Mere human beings –
Your joy and pride –
Are designed to be your temple,
The place your Spirit abides.
So let us ever endeavor
To make your dwelling place
A beautiful habitation
Reflecting gratitude for your grace.
That I might clearly see.
Give me your perspective…
Your thoughts regarding me.
Your Word reveals the fact
That I am wonderfully made,
Yet, like a flower
I quickly wither and fade,
A vapor -- a mist –
that’s here and then gone…
A lost soul apart from
your blood that atones.
I’m a treasure – that’s certain --
Your “masterpiece,”
Nevertheless destined
For my life to cease.
In your eyes I’m priceless,
Worth the death of your Son,
Yet, not of more value
Than any other one.
When the sum is calculated
Of my individual parts,
The elements that constitute
My flesh, my blood, my heart,
I rank embarrassingly low,
On the monetary scale,
In the marketplace
Where commodities are for sale.
It’s true, it’s a mystery…
A baffling paradox,
A door that you alone
Have the key to unlock.
So, what is the answer?
Where is the value found,
In those of us formed
From the dust of the ground?
This is the solution.
This is the mystery’s core.
It’s not in the created,
But the Creat-or.
The fact is, there is nothing
Of inherent value in me;
My worth is in the Designer…
Being his artistry.
God, I’m your magnum opus.
I’m the fruit of your labor…
The part of your creation
You have chosen to favor.
Formed by your hands –
The one who dwells above –
To Be the recipient
Of your unfathomable love.
And not only this,
Was I created for,
Though it’s incomprehensible
Your Word reveals even more.
Mere human beings –
Your joy and pride –
Are designed to be your temple,
The place your Spirit abides.
So let us ever endeavor
To make your dwelling place
A beautiful habitation
Reflecting gratitude for your grace.