Heavenly Father, bend,
Reach down from Your throne above,
And pluck me up from where I lay rotting.
I am filth before Your glory.
Refuse for the incinerator.
Garbage to be reduced to ash.
But Your plans are greater, Lord.
You turn me in Your hands,
And run Your fingers over me,
Feeling the cracks in my countenance,
And the dents from where I fell.
Then You cradle me in Your arms,
Saying, “I will do a good work in you.”

pply the skilled hand of the master to me, oh God.
Turn me over in Your forge,
Make me malleable for Your will.
Hammer out my dents with Your staff,
Fill my cracks with your love.
You know the alloys of my composition,
You know the heat I can withstand,
You made me, Lord.
Remake me now.
Fill me with the light of Your glory,
And like a lantern I will shine for you.
Etch Your name in me, as You have done with mine,
So that everyone who sees me will know,

I am the Lord’s.