Cedar Walls and Nail-Scarred Hands

I built my walls of cedar pride,
Convinced His temple could abide
“Another day, another year,”
While I chased dreams I held too dear.

I called it wisdom, patient, wise—
To keep my comforts, guard my skies.
But underneath my careful schemes,
My altar gathered dust and dreams.

Then in the quiet, whispers came,
A holy grief, a gentle flame:
“If not now, child, then tell Me when?
Will you make room for Me again?”

So down came stone and self-made plan,
I placed my tools in nail-scarred hands.
And where I’d feared my loss would swell,
I found His glory chose to dwell.

If this poem stirred something in your heart, remember that the deepest roots grow from God’s Word itself. “Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee” (Psalm 119:11). If you’d like simple, practical help in tucking Scripture into memory…

👉 Sign up for the free FAST Crash Course in Bible Memorization: http://fast.st/cc/21419