Oh my Lord, once again I’m before you,
begging that You sift my heart.
Insure the chaff of my life is blown away,
while allowing the kernels of Your truth
to be planted in me, for the purpose of bearing…
spiritual fruit that delights You.
The door of my heart has been unhinged;
You may enter my threshing mill anytime –
even if You need to wake me.
Lift me up and shake me without ceasing,
until the day I’m stored in Your granary.

Author Notes

Loosely based on:
Job 21: 17-18; Zep 2: 1-3; Matt 3: 12

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2011, All rights reserved.