A cry from the altar, not of sacrifice, but of love

I’ve held back before.

Maybe not outwardly—maybe not in doctrine or behavior—but somewhere deep inside, I’ve guarded pieces of myself. Out of fear. Out of control. Out of the lie that I might need something for myself, just in case You don’t come through.

But now the cry rises.

Not forced.

Not dramatic.

Just real.

Here I am, Lord. Take all of me.

Not just the good parts.

Not just the useful parts.

Not just the parts I already surrendered yesterday.

All of me.

The aching parts.

The hesitant parts.

The parts I still try to manage instead of offer.

I lay them down now—not as a transaction, but as a trust.

You are not a taskmaster. You’re a Father.

You don’t consume me to destroy me.

You receive me to fill me.

To clothe me in Christ.

To restore what was never mine to control in the first place.

So take my eyes—fix them on what is unseen.

Take my hands—use them for Your mercy.

Take my mind—renew it until it sings of You.

Take my heart—shatter every false love until only Yours remains.

This is not a vow I make in my own strength.

It is the response of a soul captured by glory.

You have loved me—so I am Yours.

Not in part.

Not in pretense.

But wholly, holy, and forever.

If I stumble, catch me.

If I forget, remind me.

If I resist, woo me again.

But today—here I am. Take all of me.