I thank You, Lord, for what I find today,
For every scrap and rusted piece of steel.
In alleyways and dumps, Your grace shines bright,
Through twisted pipes, old beams, and shattered glass,
My hands reach out to gather what You send—
A treasure hidden where most would not go.
I wander where the others dare not go,
For You are with me in the light of day,
And by Your will, I bend to seek and send
These broken things to life, to once more steel
The strength of what was lost, now whole as glass,
A simple joy found in what others might fight.
Let my work, O Lord, be neither pride nor fight,
But humble toil as I take paths to go,
And pick the pieces scattered in the glass
Of time that lies abandoned by the day.
Grant me the eyes to see the treasure—steel
And copper, aluminum, and rusted send.
For every piece, I offer thanks and send
My humble prayer to You, who made the fight
For scrap a chance to honor You, in steel
And iron bones, a testament to go
And seek with faith the treasures of the day—
Forgiveness hidden in the shards of glass.
I see Your hand, Lord, in the shards of glass,
In twisted metal, bent, but never sent
Away from purpose. Teach me, as I go,
To find Your meaning in the work I fight.
Keep me steady, should my heart forget, and steel
My spirit for the journey through this day.
Though heavy the task at times, You hold my day,
And show me beauty in the shards of glass.
Your light turns dark to gold, turns rust to steel,
When weary bones begin to doubt and send
A cry for help, I hear You, Lord, and fight
The fear, the doubts, the wrong path, while I go.
I go, with Your guidance, when the winds do fight,
And every step feels harder than the day.
Keep me strong in the face of rusted steel,
And fill my hands with treasures others send—
The copper coil, the iron, all to go
Where You, O Lord, would have me seek and send.
What do You seek, Lord, when I scrape and send
My thanks each day? What prayers do You fight
To answer when I seek, or do I go
Only to uncover treasures through the day?
I ask for mercy when my path grows glass—
Cracked and broken under weight, yet still, steel.
But You, my God, make all things pure as steel,
And with each scrap, You teach me how to send
My love and joy to You, with every day,
And know that every battle that I fight
Will shape my soul, and bring me closer, go
I must, with faith, through every shattered glass.
I thank You, Lord, for what I find today:
A gift of rusted steel, a broken glass,
A path of struggle, and a heart to fight.
O Lord, I walk this way with thanks and go,
To find Your grace in every scrap of steel,
And in Your hands, I know the way is bright.