Every year at this time as I start to pen a psalm of Thanksgiving, I’m never quite sure where to begin, or even how to approach you.
I have so little to lay at your feet. No grand deeds, no souls saved because of something I’ve said or done. Truth is, I’m feeling empty-handed and ashamed, aware of my unworthiness, yet confident of your great mercy.
O, how I cherish your mercy!
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