I've lost track of all the Sundays.
The offering plate's gone by and as I gave my hard earned dollars I felt free to keep my life.

I talk about commitment.
And the need to count the cost, but the words of a martyr show me I donīt know, his cross.

For he is no fool, who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.

Obedience and servanthood are traits I've rarely shown
the fellowship of his sufferings is a joy I've barely known.
There are riches in surrendering, that can't be gained for free
and God will share all heavens wonders, but the price he asks is me.