The dishes, the laundry, I mop the floor,
between the battle of everyday norm;

lump in my throat that ceases to move,
tears behind eyelids have something to prove.

Called out and chosen, quietly I rise
to an occasion I hate to describe.

Swish, swash, fold and turn;
still I ache and heart still yearns.

Breath of His voice heard over the dryer,
"Deep within there still is the fire."

Rested at peace, He shakes my core,
I capture a moment I've known before.

Blessed assurance, not just the melody.
Signed and sealed, waiting on delivery.

Count the blessings to and fro;
it's a routine I've come to know.

First fruits, first thanks not thought of at the time,
when faced with this mountain I am to climb.

Heart and legs stronger, my opponent, I'll outrun;
first blessing of thanks, "it's not day one."