Lately, I have questioned my will,
Believing its strength, yet doubting its might.
Let Thy will be done—I prayed, reluctant still,
To yield my heart to the Lord’s pure light.
Life is a river, carving paths, they say,
Granting what’s sought through faith’s quiet plea.
I asked not for the dry season’s sting,
Nor does harmattan find place in me.
Rain falls abundantly, as does the Lord’s grace;
I’ll reap His harvest if cold spares my soul.
Selfish, I know—my plans drift far from His,
Wandering, lost, where my own strength fails whole.
Till one dawn, a single raindrop fell
My insufficiency met His boundless stream.
Life, generous, grants trust as a gift, unearned,
And in surrender, I hold peace’s gleam.
