Hope For The Unworthy
I, simple mortal, prone to petty whim,
AM drawn, moth-like, to consequential pain,
NOT as I'd wish to be, focussed on Him,
WORTHY... when puffed-up pride fails me again?
NOW, in my twilight years, you'd think I'd learn
AND these grey hairs some wisdom might bestow,
NEVER again moth wings to singe and burn.
HAVE done with grief, there's one great truth I know.
BEEN, as I have in despair's misery,
BUT ever knowing Jesus has my back,
HE leads me on to certain victory,
STILL strengthening where I am seen to lack.
LOVES He yet, no limits or conditions,
ME with all my flawed predispositions.
The quote (vertical) is from Pastor Rick Brewer's message,
19th May 2019.
Thank you Rick
See more poems by cherryk
View this poem
Comment on this poem