by Marijo Phelps
3/13/2009 / Poetry
Let the old impurities
Become dross to be skimmed off
By Your quick, gentle hand.
Let me be dealt with
In Your love,
That I don't deserve.
I give You only that
Which is mine to give
Yet even those You've given to me.
In returning, I surrender:
To the One who made me,
My blog is:
(C) Marijo Phelps all rights reserved. Use with proper credits.
Saved by His grace in 1974, from 9 years of professing atheism into His loving arms. RN for 23 years, missionary with YWAM then statistical analyst for Every Home for Christ over 9 years. Living with my husband in the middle of a mountain meadow. GRIN! Wanting to spread the good news
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