Grace, the only dress that makes beautiful,
the style of Your spirit.
Word, that makes her crave more of Christ,
have hunger pangs for Him.
You, Love who makes her love, who folds her heart into a roof
that absorbs storms for souls,
that makes her tongue speak only the words that make souls stronger.
Translating every countenance into the face of Christ
Translating every burden into blessing
And when it’s time to work… make her a holy wonder.
May she be thread and mend brokeness and knit hearts
May she be dead to all ladders & never go higher, only lower, to the lonely, the least & the longing
Her led of the Spirit to lead many to the Cross
that leads to the tomb wildly empty.