To My Stones

If my prayers are only whispers
Of a wish list in the sky,
Then I have only brought the world
Another selfish guy.

If my prayers are only sweet-sung praises
And I neglect to love,
What good does it do to believe
In a God in heaven above?

If I call myself a Christian,
But I never read the word,
I’m just as lost as the person
Who’s never even heard.

We have the benefit of access,
But most of it’s for show.
If you don’t water actions with words
How’re they supposed to grow?

No good can come from us.
We rely on Christ alone.
If we aspire to be more than dirt
Accept the seeds which He has thrown.

Am I rocky soil?
Full of weeds?
Easily purchased?
Lost in deeds?

I’m the house built
On sinking sand.
I’m the seed unsown
On fallow land.

Tear me down, Lord.
Strip her to the stones.
Down to the ground,
Then build from the bones.

Rise from the ashes
Of this burnt shell.
Give me new eyes
And a story to tell.

A story of your glory
And the mercy you’ve given.
Erase the person I was
And draw the Christ who’s risen.

Plant those flowers,
Fruit on the vine.
Remain in me.
Bring the sun to shine.

Make this garden-home
A welcoming place.
When they look at me
Let them see your face.

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