Pry from my hands these little trinkets,
these very important “holy” things.
Break these idols that I trust in;
let me know my depth of sin.
Devastate me with Your nearness;
fill me with Your Spirit’s blaze.
In one moment, set my mind free
from the churning death in me.
Pulled by streams of disappointment,
tossed by crests of fear and rage,
fighting to believe the promise—
broken in these times of loss.
Can this be the road to Canaan?
Can this desert bloom and grow?
Can this rock produce a fountain?
How can living waters flow?
Break these feeble things I cling to;
fill my open, upturned hands.
Wreck my hopes in shallow dreaming,
Loose me from my useless schemes.
“For I know the one in whom I have placed my confidence, and I am perfectly certain that the work he has committed to me is safe in his hands until that day.” II Timothy 1:12 (Phillips)