Serving Jesus

A member of His body, flesh, and bones,
He has a work He's set aside for me.
It is within where Jesus' blood atones,
With signs and miracles done outwardly.
Perhaps He's made me the cog of the wheel
Of His Gospel's chariot that rides swift.
I may appear as nothing, but what's real
Is holding spokes together is my gift.
Although I'm hitting mud as the wheel's rim
And weathering the rocks and ruts and bumps,
This may not be the place I'd best serve Him.
I'd rather serve in the place where I'm fit
Then steer the horse wrong serving as the bit.