a thousand generations

Scrape the dirt off my skin,
scrape it off so hard that you get
grime under Your fingernails.
Make me fall to my knees so frequently
that I bruise the carpet
from collapsing there in prayer so often.
How magnificent, the knowledge
that my own "righteousness" is not counted
against me;
how gentle a peace is the reassurance
that all my shortcomings--
be they of nature, of action, of otherwise--
shall not be mocked.
And even as Christ staggered
with the weight of His cross and my sin
and our collective hurts,
He found it within Himself to Love me.
While I struggle to pardon people
who cut in line
or talk trash about me or those I Love
or don't pay me back for trivial expenses--
oh, God, I am a fool.
But a sanctified fool, nonetheless,
for You still see fit to claim me.

These truths, they are nothing new--
Praise to Him Who has revealed them
for a thousand generations!

The End

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