[ Featuring Grace ]
I wore their favorite masks
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Till I forgot my name.
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Spoke in borrowed voices
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And smiled to play their game.
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I was paper, patched with need-
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A shadow dressed to bleed.
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They dressed me in their fear and pride,
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But You were waiting deep inside.
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I'm Your clay-torn and bare,
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No longer dancing on despair.
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You shape my voice, not magazines-
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You wash me clean from man-made dreams.
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I'm Your vessel, bent but true-
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I lose the false to become new.
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I learned to cry on cue,
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To be what others see.
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But my soul was stitched together
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In a language that's not me.
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I was layers, lost and dim-
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But You called me back to Him.
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Do they remember what I said-
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Or just the bow upon my head?
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You saw the soul beneath the skin,
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Not who I was told to be in.
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I'm Your clay-torn and bare,
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Not a puppet, not despair.
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You thread my breath through holy seams,
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No longer sewn to broken schemes.
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I'm Your temple, not your toy,
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Redeemed in silence, born in joy.
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I whispered no in painted gloss,
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But You heard truth beneath the loss.
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You cracked the mask, You broke the spell-
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And let me be who You knew well.
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I don't want roles, I don't want fame-
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I just want to live Your name.
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You don't cut me down to size-
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You lift me up, You make me rise.
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I'm Your clay-You mold, You mend,
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You write the truth I can't pretend.
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This is not control-it's grace,
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What You give
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Is love, not place.
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"You are the work of My hands..."
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Formed in secret,
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Held in plans.
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