Might I be gold or silver, or some kind thatís not as pure?
If I should be gold or silver, I might one day become a crown;
With diamonds, rubies and sapphires, embedded all around.
I might become a beautiful necklace to adorn a maiden fair.
Or I could become the ring that joins together a loving pair.
Oh, it would be so wonderful to become a part of some treasure,
for people do love pretty things, to enjoy and give them pleasure.
I was distraught to learn I was simply iron and not purest gold.
But many important things can be made from iron, I've been told.
Strong tools are made from iron, so I could be put to good use.
Since these are needed in life, this gave my hopes a new boost.
One day I arrived at a smithyís shop with metals of many kinds.
I wondered what I would become, and what the smithy had in mind.
So many times he melted me down, I could barely stand the heat;
I grew stronger as I lost my impurities, and one day Iíd be complete.
Whenever the smithy was forging a sword or even a simple plow,
I was always the one leftover piece that wasnít needed right now.
One day my turn finally came, and I was pounded, shaped and heated.
I was ecstatic and very happy, because at last I was going to be needed.
I did not know just what I would become, but the metal smithy knew.
He was satisfied with his results, when I was finished and through.
He tossed me into a pile of things that were all made just like me.
I finally learned what Iíd become; a "nail" was what I was to be.
One day a man came into the shop and bought a clay pot of nails.
Since I was one within the pot, I pondered what my mission entailed.
Might I be used to build a new temple, or a palace oh so grand?
At last my strength might be put to use to make a building stand.
Each time a hand reached into the pot, I was the one nail never pulled out.
I was so very discouraged and sad -- "pick me" I wanted to shout!
One day I was finally chosen, and a strong hammer drove me into place.
I was so happy I was finally being used, my heart began to race.
But when I saw why I had been chosen, I felt such awful despair.
For I had wanted to be used in this world to build or to repair.
Instead I held a manís feet to a cross, as he painfully and slowly died.
My own heart felt like breaking, and if I could have I wouldíve cried.
The dead man was Jesus, Godís only Son; but later I heard He still lived.
For the part that I'd played in causing His death, I hope God will forgive.
God chose Him before the beginning of time to die on an old rugged cross.
But God chose me, a simple iron nail, to do my part to help save the lost.
God has a use for His children; just as important as the way He used me.
Heíll take you and use you in mighty ways; open your hearts and you will see.
Give yourself completely to Him. Youíll be amazed at what He will do.
If you'll put your faith and trust in Him, Heíll forge a brand new "you."
I was inspired to write this poem after reading one