A prose on renewal and faith |
His Death I hate this person that I’ve become But sitting here will only hinder The change that must take me on To a life dedicated to the One Who died on that cross for me Because He saw this person that I’ve become And loved me anyway So there He hung, nails in his hands and feet His face covered in painful anguish His heart grieved at the sin He had taken on I hate this person that I’ve become I took my heart and tore it apart Leaving me sitting silently on this tree I can see the blood stains They still linger on its bark It’s blood that was shed for me I hate this person that I’ve become But I refuse to sit around all day So I will get down from this tree And for the first time I’ll see you carrying me Your arms of love surround me Your presence astounds me In silence I bow at your feet For your glory fills me with humility For you took this person that I’ve become And made me new You shed your blood So that I could look into your glorious face So that I could bow at your scared feet So that I could kiss your scared hands You are the Truth You are the Way You are the Shepard And You changed this person that I had become… |