Humble by day, repentant by night, humbled by my lack of humility, repentant of my failure to repent.
Striving to follow Jesus, to keep his statutes, to have faith, to get adopted, to make our father proud.
I’m afraid to act. Paralyzed by bread on the table, bread in my pocket. I like bread. You weak bro? Need to believe this life isn’t the end? I am weak, but that’s where your understanding ends. Or maybe the thought does cross my mind. What if when things go dark, they go dark, forever.
While we’re being real, sometimes history sounds like a cult when it’s actually the cult that’s modeled after history. From conversations to sermons, faced with abundant truth, it feels like we’re running in circles. I wonder how to reconcile faith when fear is so foundational and forgiveness feels like a convenient cop out for the sins that I’m about to commit.
My mouth heaps slander that flows from a judgemental, insecure heart. These lips are a snare to my soul.
How can I thank God for the good in my life when others are going through such shit? And how can I shun bigotry while it’s creeping around in my heart? I shun my heart, until I don’t.
I am a waterless cloud, fruitless tree, uprooted, a wild wave.
Jesus help me.