He’s Not Finished with Me Yet

I stand in the quiet, unfinished frame,

Timbers of doubt and hope aflame.

The Master Builder bends so low,

His breath whispers, “Watch you grow.”

I see rough edges, broken seams,

He sees the shape of holy dreams.

Where I see cracks that split and scar,

He places jewels where failures are.

I stumble through these half-formed days,

Yet grace keeps crafting hidden ways.

His hands are steady, sure, and wise,

He lifts my chin to clearer skies.

Not cast aside as flawed or tossed,

Not deemed unworthy, bruised, or lost.

I am His work, a living stone,

A story still by mercy sown.

So, when I fear I’ve gone astray,

Or doubt I’ll see the light of day,

I’ll rest within His promise kept,

My Potter’s hands are not done yet.

The hammer falls, the chisel sings,

He’s shaping me for greater things.

And when He’s done – oh, what a sight!

A masterpiece made pure by Light.