Your offering shall bewithout blemish without blemish What can a man do? What can a man do that is with out blemish? What can a man give? What can I do? What can I give?

The calves no longer bawl Nor the goats bleat Frantic dove wings do not beat in fear

What can I give What can I bring but myself

As a craftsman knows his tools a potter know his product, So You know me. A blunted blade A crooked awl A cracked pot An urn misshapen.

Your offering shall be without blemish I can only bring myself Will Malachi condemn me? I have surely brought a sacrifice Blind Lame Not quite right. Shall I bring the offering The offering of my heart? Where is my prayer that is pure Unselfish not weighted with some Self interest? Even my prayer is Marred Imperfect Blemished

Your offering shall be without blemish. How? How? How?

Shall I sing? Shall I lift my voice in a new song? in an old song? In praise in gratitude Even in depth of singing even from my deepest place there is “I hope this sounds good.” or worse “Boy! This sounds good.” A scab of ego or fear clinging to the melody.

Shall I help others? But lifting the fallen directing the lost clothing the naked feels good. There is pleasure in service joy in kindness and A bit in self congratulation A broken wing hindering the flight to true service.

Your offering shall be without blemish.

Please please You know me You know me better than I know myself.

The poor man could bring a bird When it was burned It was burned with its feathers It was said to have a pleasing odor. Burning feathers? Really? A pleasing odor? Rather let me believe You were Pleased Pleased to accept What a poor man could bring.

I am poor I am poor in spirit in virtue In vigor to do your will. But  accept me Accept my brokenness Accept my blemish I can only bring you what I am what I have Whatever that may be It is Yours.

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