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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."