||Counter high to momma in
Mixing and pouring batter all about,
She would more than often
"Ya gotta throw the first waffle out!"
Being the firstborn of her
I wondered if, and being oh so brave,
When making waffles, she
thought of me,
Ladled out as well, from griddle to grave.
I have since learned that
particularly prefers the firsts of ones,
Pouring out His grace like
As over every pocket it sweetly runs.
And I have chosen to embrace
the way He sees me, as My redeemer,
As a child saved through
His only Son.
Sorry momma, God says I'm a keeper.