I know it now for sure,

I am nothing.

Well something,

Because You made me,

But nothing of myself.

 

Let me squash the foolish pride,

I once held dearly,

As if I was somebody.

And drop my head in shame,

For a life lived in me, not you.

 

It is now clear,

No better life has been given to anyone,

Than the one You gave me,

To either savor or squander,

Of which I have done both,

With great purpose … if not direction.

 

It ends now,

With the knowledge of surrender,

Full surrender,

After my Emmaus journey,

I AM aware suddenly,

Of my worthlessness, to myself.

 

It is only what I do which you direct,

Which is useful,

All other is self-serving,

As I see this through new eyes,

Opened and aware.