I feel weak, yet you say you are my strength.
I feel engulfed in worry, yet you are the keeper of peace.
I feel like I’m ‘not enough’ to stand in your glorious presence, yet you say I don’t need to be. Not by my own merit.
You say you’ve dipped my soul in the purest of blood, that isolation from you has ended.
I feel like I’m impure and unworthy to take your name as bride.
You say, wasn’t my blood enough?
I tortured my flesh for you; a god on this earth should live lavishly.
But I didn’t, and it was for you.
I feel like I haven’t enough grace to extend to others.
You say I was never meant to.
I was meant to function in your grace, for apart from you, I’m nothing.
I feel like my identity has been stolen.
You say, where was it in the first place?
Was it in yourself? It will be squandered.
Did you place it in relationships? They will fail you.
Did your foolish pride swell in self-righteousness?
Inflated pride will only provide death to your bones.
So was your identity stolen, or did you only misplace it?
Never forget that my crucifixion was enough.
Your words are like nails that berate my flesh again.
Why do you try to crucify me once more?
Why do you try to crucify yourself?
Once was enough.