I am but a broken vessel,
My life a shattered gift.
Yet, what is left, I offer here,
My empty hands to God I lift.
Deep places carved by wounds and pain
Reveal how much was taken.
But what those places also tell
Is how the hope, laid buried there, was suddenly awakened.
Canyons meant to be hope’s grave
Turned out to be her mountain top.
His love, grace, mercy flipped the script.
Pursuing me, He never stopped.
He poured, I reached.
With patience He kept revealing
Where I was scattered, broken, cracked.
His love saw, filled, not running out but sealing.
He used those broken pieces,
Not hiding what once was.
With tender hands my heart was mended
Those places now a victory, no longer just a loss.
They tell a story, sing a song
Of why these broken hands I lift.
I know what only He can do
With something like my shattered gift.
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