by Ellen  Britton

Father I sit here with pen in hand
Waiting to hear your voice again

I look at your mountains and the works of your hand
And I stand in awe of the vastness of your plan

Your love to the nations you've asked us to take
Yet from the dust of our circumstances we can't seem to shake

Our view gets so narrow, our eyes clouded with "self"
And the commission you've given gets set on a shelf

Satan knows our weakness, so he throws us a curve
One more thing to distract us and make us love our nerve

He sneaks in some fear and we begin to think
If we get out of our boat we just might sink

There's not enough money, the kids have a cold
What if my husband's job doesn't hold

What will we eat if we give more to missions
What will we do if we don't get that commission

On and on our excuses can go
Till we're consumed with our selves and we feel so low

We can't understand why we have no peace
Until in desperation we get on our knees

We begin to cry and it all pours out
Then our Father lifts us and turns us about

He turns us away from our own circumstances
Lifts our eyes to His face and our sad heart dances

We see His unfailing love reflected there
And once again we want to share

Whatever we have whether great or small
He takes it and blesses and he give us His all

It begins to sink in to our thick skull
That there is no way to lose when we heed His call

When we are willing to be His hand extended
To the people we meet and the nations all blended

His hand is released, His provision abundant
He provides for our lives as our own efforts couldn't

So lets embrace His plan and get onto the train
We won't every know joy if in our selves we remain

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