Jesus died upon the cross,
To take away our sin.
Two thousand- some years later,
I asked Him to come in,
To cleanse my heart, to wash my soul,
To purge me through and through.
To take away the old me,
And to make me something new.
At four years old I gave my life,
To Him whom claim was due,
And for one breath, my slate was clean,
My soul was sparkling new.
For one moment, I was perfect,
No sins left to my name.
Redemption shone within my heart,
Iíd never be the same.
But if I thought perfection would
From then define my life,
If I thought that I would no more
Feel the strains of worldly strife,
That all the sins and vices,
That were, were dead and gone,
If I thought that I was righteous,
I couldnít be more wrong.
The humanness which drives all men,
Was still alive and well,
The once-king that had been dethroned
Was cursing me from Hell.
Despite the sacrifices made
To take me from his hold,
I found that I was still a rotten,
Stinking, sinning soul.
My perfectness was shot before
The first day came and went.
I canít believe a rescind
On the offer wasnít sent.
The fabric Iíd been sewn with
Was ripping at the seams,
And looking back, I finally know
What mercy really means.
It means that every time I lose
My temper once again
Each time I start to worry, or
I disappoint my friends;
An unkind word slips through my mind,
Mean words escape my lips;
Each time I fall another time
And my soul fabric rips,
My Lord does not condemn me
Back to Hell where I belong,
He doesnít dwell upon the fact
That every day Iím wrong.
He doesnít take the garment
Of my life within His hands,
Decide itís worthless, tear it up,
And toss it in a can.
Instead, with love, He smoothes each crease,
Probes every thread-bare hole,
And measures out a patch of grace,
To once more make me whole.
With needles made of age-old nails
And tipped with life-blood red,
He stitches on each loving patch,
Forgiveness is His thread.
Many years ago I learned,
My righteousness is rags,
But ďMade by GodĒ is stitched in red,
Upon my soulís worn tags.
Iím just a patchwork Christian,
Who by grace and mercy lives.
I know that Iím not perfect,
But, thank God, my Seamster is.
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