He Calls Me More

Beneath the weight of weary skies, I stood with trembling hands,

The path ahead a shadowed maze, the past a field of sand.

My name unknown, so small and lost, a reed a breeze could bend,

But then a voice, a golden glow, spoke softly like a friend.

He did not fault the frailty found within my fainting frame,

Nor did he mock the muteness of my secret searing shame.

He did not name the fears I bore, nor count the wounds unhealed,

But bid me rise in faith to follow what he had revealed.

Not strength of mind or sharpened will, of birthright nor of skill,

But power born of certain trust in perfect love distilled

And demonstrated through an act of undeserved exchange,

Where Jesus gave his life for mine; I am no more estranged.

He calls me more than I have been, and more than I can dream,

His plans transcend my highest hopes; frustrations are redeemed.

My name is written in his hands, I live within his light.

He beckons me, though small and worn, to walk by faith not sight.

So here I am, no more unnamed, though troubles hem me in,

For he who sends is near at hand, and I am strong through him.

Though I am least, though I am last, yet still I dare to go,

Not by my might, but by his word, that guides and makes me bold.

Based on Judges 6:14, John 1:12, Deuteronomy 7:7.

© Johannes W H van der Bijl 2025