Dale Lloyd

Someone is calling—I hear His voice.
He who is calling has made His choice.
“I chose you; you did not choose Me”—
a wondrous truth that sets me free.

Free from religion’s relentless demands,
from faith reduced to the works of my hands.
“Yes, I prayed more than all the rest;
and by such works I’m heaven-blessed.”

Yet not I—but the grace of God,
I whisper now through honest tears.
The revelation: it’s all of Him—
the story of my years.

It’s not by might. It’s not by power,
nor any goodness on my part.
It’s by the Sovereign Spirit dwelling deep,
residing in my heart.

Oh, the peace that I now know—
the peace that truly sets me free.
It’s not my choice at the heart of this,
but the choice He made of me.

And who could undo that Sovereign choice,
or cause His will to bend?
His determination was set in place
before time itself began.

My hands are empty—open still.
I do not convince Him with my voice.
I stand in quiet security,
resting in His choice.