Once I tried to use Him
To satisfy my soul
How foolish I! For ‘twas a gift,
That cleansed and made my whole.
Once I thought my goodness,
My works, could set me free.
Once I tried to use Him –
But now He uses me.
Once I tried to use Him
I took His grace for naught.
Sinning that grace might abound
Not living as I ought.
Asking Him for strength
Using all day for ‘me’.
Once I tried to use Him
But now He uses me.
Once I tried to use Him
To save my soul from hell
I was afraid His love to show
When Jesus whispered “Tell”.
I’d turn away with this reply:
“I’m scared. What if? Not me.”
Once I tried to use Him,
But now He uses me.
Once I tried to use Him,
Now vain I see those days.
I pray that He will use me –
That He receives the praise.
I see Him so much greater
His majesty I see.
Once I tried to use Him
But now He uses me.
How sweet the path has grown
Since I’ve yielded to His care
No need to ask for anything –
For HE is always there.
No need to ask for grace –
It rolleth like the sea.
Once I tried to use Him
But now He uses me.
Once I tried to use Him
Now forevermore I’ll live.
For Him who died on Calvary
For He such freedom gives.
And then when I behold Him
That His words to me might be:
“Once you let me use you;
Child, I am pleased with thee.”
Copyright Miriam Rainwater, October 16, 2007
All rights reserved.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
The Job Transfer
Having just moved to a new house, this story, written several years ago for school, has taken on new meaning:
Miriam yanks me up and plops me flat on my back on an envelope. “Ouch!” Rubbing her fingers across my face, I feel as if I have just been run over by a train. I watch while she picks up Pen and scrawls letters close to my frilly collar. Miriam does not seem to notice my panicked face in the morning sun as she carries me out to place me inside a dark box beside the street. Hours pass, and I wait in anxiety and dread while I wonder why Miriam would leave me all alone. The box opens, and a beam of light makes me squint. I rejoice at the hope of getting out, but my joy turns to alarm as I feel a hand lift me out and rather incompassionately toss me in a stifling crate. I begin to get a headache as I travel along the bumpy road with other crying, frightened, address labels, envelopes, and stamps like myself. “Where are we going?” “What is going to happen to us?” some are asking. Oh, how I wish I knew!
After a rather lengthy ride with many stops, I can hardly breathe from my place in the stack. Soon I feel the crate turn over, and, without warning, I slide out into the open. The light and elbow room feel good, and I take big breaths in and out before I am shoved into an even larger box. After what seems like forever, I again slide out and suffer bright lights and machines that stomp and roll over me with no regard at all for my comfort or pleasure. Stomp, roll, Stomp, roll, flash! The blinding lights and ‘pounders’ make me ache to the core. When will this be over? Why would Miriam send me here? I try to console myself with the thought that maybe I’ll be free after all of this is finished, but my hopes crumble as I once more get dropped into a huge box. The fear of what will happen next seems to hover over me, and I wonder if I will ever recover from all the bends and bruises I feel. Others around me in the dark are sleeping, their snores penetrating the stuffy silence. Hurt and discouraged, I fall into a restless sleep.
When I awake, I realize I must have traveled a good distance, and I wonder how many days have passed. As I fall off the roller and into a box, someone nearby shouts, “Here, Jim, the box for your morning route!” From the top of the box, the word gets passed that we are once again getting into a white truck like we came in. My heart leaps with joy as I think of perhaps seeing Miriam again. I breathe easier as each envelope above me is chosen and returned to boxes beside the street. I sing and shout for joy with my companions as we think of the happy prospect, and the wheels of the truck seem to sing “going home, going home; home at last, trouble past!”
My face shines with delight and joy as I am carefully lifted with other envelopes and placed in a box beside the street. I patiently wait, but I am tempted to bounce off the walls with gladness. When I am finally lifted for the last time, my face shines with happiness at the girl standing there. It does not worry me too much when I notice that the face is not Miriam’s. “Maybe Miriam is inside the house,” I console my fears. Once inside the girl holding me calls out, “Rachael, there is a letter for you in the mail!” Rachael? Wait a minute; where am I? In panic and worry, I am almost in tears. I thought I was going home!
Soon, I feel gentle hands lift me, and carry me back outside. I hardly notice the budding trees, the lake and flowers around me as I wallow in my own self-pity. Once seated Rachael flips me
over, and for the first time, I see her face. Through my tears, I realize that in a way I was right. I was going home. This girl was like Miriam. There were some differences: this girl had beautiful curly hair, and she did not wear glasses. But there were many similarities too: Miriam had brown eyes, so did Rachael, they both wore sunny smiles and they were both seemed to relish my contents. In fact, I just might like it here. And then I realize Miriam sent me here to bring good news to Rachael; to make my home where she placed me. As I rest in confidence and surrender in Rachael’s hand, and I notice how easily the word seems to come off my tongue, HOME.
Miriam yanks me up and plops me flat on my back on an envelope. “Ouch!” Rubbing her fingers across my face, I feel as if I have just been run over by a train. I watch while she picks up Pen and scrawls letters close to my frilly collar. Miriam does not seem to notice my panicked face in the morning sun as she carries me out to place me inside a dark box beside the street. Hours pass, and I wait in anxiety and dread while I wonder why Miriam would leave me all alone. The box opens, and a beam of light makes me squint. I rejoice at the hope of getting out, but my joy turns to alarm as I feel a hand lift me out and rather incompassionately toss me in a stifling crate. I begin to get a headache as I travel along the bumpy road with other crying, frightened, address labels, envelopes, and stamps like myself. “Where are we going?” “What is going to happen to us?” some are asking. Oh, how I wish I knew!
After a rather lengthy ride with many stops, I can hardly breathe from my place in the stack. Soon I feel the crate turn over, and, without warning, I slide out into the open. The light and elbow room feel good, and I take big breaths in and out before I am shoved into an even larger box. After what seems like forever, I again slide out and suffer bright lights and machines that stomp and roll over me with no regard at all for my comfort or pleasure. Stomp, roll, Stomp, roll, flash! The blinding lights and ‘pounders’ make me ache to the core. When will this be over? Why would Miriam send me here? I try to console myself with the thought that maybe I’ll be free after all of this is finished, but my hopes crumble as I once more get dropped into a huge box. The fear of what will happen next seems to hover over me, and I wonder if I will ever recover from all the bends and bruises I feel. Others around me in the dark are sleeping, their snores penetrating the stuffy silence. Hurt and discouraged, I fall into a restless sleep.
When I awake, I realize I must have traveled a good distance, and I wonder how many days have passed. As I fall off the roller and into a box, someone nearby shouts, “Here, Jim, the box for your morning route!” From the top of the box, the word gets passed that we are once again getting into a white truck like we came in. My heart leaps with joy as I think of perhaps seeing Miriam again. I breathe easier as each envelope above me is chosen and returned to boxes beside the street. I sing and shout for joy with my companions as we think of the happy prospect, and the wheels of the truck seem to sing “going home, going home; home at last, trouble past!”
My face shines with delight and joy as I am carefully lifted with other envelopes and placed in a box beside the street. I patiently wait, but I am tempted to bounce off the walls with gladness. When I am finally lifted for the last time, my face shines with happiness at the girl standing there. It does not worry me too much when I notice that the face is not Miriam’s. “Maybe Miriam is inside the house,” I console my fears. Once inside the girl holding me calls out, “Rachael, there is a letter for you in the mail!” Rachael? Wait a minute; where am I? In panic and worry, I am almost in tears. I thought I was going home!
Soon, I feel gentle hands lift me, and carry me back outside. I hardly notice the budding trees, the lake and flowers around me as I wallow in my own self-pity. Once seated Rachael flips me
over, and for the first time, I see her face. Through my tears, I realize that in a way I was right. I was going home. This girl was like Miriam. There were some differences: this girl had beautiful curly hair, and she did not wear glasses. But there were many similarities too: Miriam had brown eyes, so did Rachael, they both wore sunny smiles and they were both seemed to relish my contents. In fact, I just might like it here. And then I realize Miriam sent me here to bring good news to Rachael; to make my home where she placed me. As I rest in confidence and surrender in Rachael’s hand, and I notice how easily the word seems to come off my tongue, HOME.© Miriam Rainwater
Written May 4, 2005
Written May 4, 2005
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