The Altar and the Offering

I brought Him my fragments—
sharp-edged ambitions,
dreams rusted by years of holding too tightly,
fears that whispered like thieves in the dark.
They clattered upon His altar
like stones that could never fit
the crown He wore.

He asked for more than what I could spare.
He asked for the pulse of my choosing,
the reins of my will,
the fortress of self
I had sworn never to abandon.

I thought surrender meant loss—
a hollowing, an emptying,
the slow death of what made me me.
But when I yielded,
I found the hollow was not a grave—
it was a chalice.

And the Spirit came—
not in the blaze I feared would consume me,
but in a quiet fire
that warmed the marrow of my being
and burned away the frost
of all my striving.

Now peace walks beside me like a river,
unhurried,
certain of its destination.
And power moves through me
like wind through an open field—
not mine to command,
but free to flow where the Sower
sends His seed.

For this is the mystery:
the more of myself I lay down,
the more of His life rises within me—
until the altar
and the offering
are one.

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