Before I Move, I Kneel

I

Before I move, I kneel—

not out of weakness, but wisdom learned in quiet places.

Years have taught me what zeal alone could never hold:

that strength without surrender is a burden dressed as bold.

I have marched in my own direction,

mapped out plans with confident hands,

only to find that roads I forced open

led me farther from Your lands.

So now, before a word is spoken,

before a step is made,

I bring the weight of every thought

to the altar where prayers are laid.

For You have never asked me

to carry what You died to bear—

yet how often have I labored

without first inviting You there?

In the stillness, You reorder me.

In the waiting, You align my will.

What I thought required my rushing

is answered best when I am still.

Teach me, Lord, the discipline of pause—

the sacred space between desire and deed,

where heaven whispers direction

and grace supplies every need.

Let me not be driven by urgency

that drowns out Your voice so clear,

but anchored in the quiet assurance

that when I seek, You are near.

For victories are not in striving,

nor in battles fought alone—

but in hearts that bow before You

and make Your wisdom known.

So before I build, I’ll pray.

Before I speak, I’ll listen.

Before I act, I’ll seek Your face—

that every step be heaven-written.

And if I forget, remind me—

gently call me back again,

to the place where power is perfected

not in doing, but in Amen.