Content, I walk this path unknown,
For I am Yours, no more my own.
Let the world chase dust and flame,
For I have found a truer name.
So poor are they who grasp for gold,
And miss Your grace, Your gentle fold.
Content I am with breath and bread,
With twilight paths and peace when led.
Let gratitude be my anthem,
For You have paid my ransom.
Whether sorrow comes or joy surrounds,
Still steadfast shall Your grace resound.
No cry for more, no plea for less
My portion is Your faithfulness.
A thankful soul, a humble mind,
Yearning for lost sheep to find.
For this is what I seek to own,
Gifts of Your heart, my cornerstone.
So here I bow, and here I stay,
Grateful for You, every day.
I’m ever held in love divine,
Content to call Thy glory mine.
What more, O Lord, could I but miss
A Father’s love, a Savior’s kiss?
Let thankfulness be all I speak
For You, my Lord, are all I seek
I hear Your Words, as You say to me,
“The richest life is the one lived with me”

I say I believe, but what does that mean,
If to be His vessel fully isn’t my dream.
If my path hugs comfort, not Calvary’s hill,
Have I bowed my heart, or bent my will
Christ didn’t die for a nod and a phrase,
Or to sit on a shelf for ceremonial days.
He came to collide with the core of my being
To resurrect bones, giving blind eyes seeing.
Transformation is never mild or small.
It wrecks me, refines me, my knees to fall.
Then lifts me again with scarred, holy hands,
And calls me to follow, not merely to stand.
This faith isn’t stitched in Sunday routine,
In manicuring my life to appearance so clean.
It’s war in the dark where no one applauds,
It’s fire that consumes all masks and facades.
It’s drawing the lines that cost me the crowd,
It’s forgiving the one who won’t say it out loud.
It’s prayer in the quiet, when silence is loud,
It’s truth over trend, and faith that’s unbowed.
The call of gospel, tore the veil between,
It’s rushing like thunder beneath the unseen.
I can’t serve the King who hung and bled,
While feasting at tables where comfort is fed.
This gospel costs, it demands my all,
To rise when I’m weary, with grit and gaul
And I ask my soul what words can’t mask
Am I claiming Christ, or living the task
Do I wear His name while walking away,
Or bear His weight every step of the way
I can wear the cross, but must know this truth
It’s not in the symbol, it’s shown in the proof.
I don’t need to answer, not with my breath.
My life is the sermon and my walk is the test.

The Man who stilled the raging seas,
Who calmed the storm with whispered peace,
Stepped down into the flood of pain,
And bore the weight of our disdain.
The Man whose feet on waves were sure,
Chose sinking depths, our souls to cure.
He walked where mortal men would drown,
Then laid aside His heavenly crown.
The debt was ours, yet He alone,
Would face the wrath, would stand atone.
The spotless Lamb, the Holy One,
Would perish below a darkened sun.
The hands that healed, were pierced and torn,
The brow once kissed, with thorns adorned.
The voice that called dead hearts to rise,
Gave up His breath in sacrifice.
Yet in that grave, Love was not lost,
He rose again, our debt the cost.
Now mercy flows, the chain undone,
By Christ, the risen, conquering Son.
So when you fear the deep, the tide,
Remember Him, the Crucified.
For He who walked on waves so free,
Has drowned in love, for you and me.

I rise once more with trembling hands,
Beneath the weight of shifting sands.
Each fault a stone, each tear a tide,
And still I flee, and still I hide.
Yet there You find me, drenched in dust,
With mercy fierce, in You I trust.
You lift the shame I could not bear,
And cast it far through boundless air.
From east to west, Your hand has drawn,
A sacred line where night meets dawn.
You wiped away what once was mine,
The scars, the stains, the fault, the time.
Yet still, I ask with aching heart,
How can You love what fell apart?
You whisper low, You know my name,
Not by wounds, but by spirit’s flame.
The fire you sparked when time began,
Still burns within your sovereign plan.
My God makes all ruins rise in grace,
Each fractured thing, a holy place.
Even my heart, so prone to roam,
Is being carved to be Your home.
So I will trust the unseen thread,
That weaves through thorns and lifts the dead.
You know the hour, the weight, the test,
You fling my sins from east to west.
And though I walk with stinging eyes,
Your grace is deeper than the skies.
You set eternity in little broken me,
Once bound in chains, now flying free.

The night is long, the road is wide,
the air burns cold, the winds confide.
Yet who shall stand against the dawn,
when love itself has led us on?
He spoke the world from silent dust,
to walk the road that bled to death.
Then tell me now, what man shall rise,
to lay his claim, to call me lies?
What tongue dare whisper I am lost,
when He has paid the final cost?
No sword, no stone, famine's hand,
no raging tide, nor desert sand,
no shadow cast from heights untold,
can break the bond my spirit holds.
The earth may shake, the sky may fall,
the grave may stretch its silent call.
But love has struck its burning mark,
no depth can drown, no night is dark.
So let them come with tooth and chain,
with fire's breath, with flood and rain.
No reckoning stands, no verdict stays,
for He is love beyond all days.