What does it take to shake my
Underlying sense of worth?
How about the note I found;
Uncrumpled it, to see inside,
“I wish my mom was dead.” Dear God,
Will you please pour out your grace?
If it were not for sheer grace,
I’d cleave through this chest of mine,
Halt my heart, and forfeit God.
How she would mourn my lost worth;
Rent seam rains blood from springs inside;
Slick piles of uncorked entrails found.
My crumpled, brooding body found,
Marinating in disgrace,
Holding epistles of gore inside;
Like it or not, this life of mine
Is gone, for I’m judged unworthy
By you—your fault—cry to God!
Poorly thus, I’ve treated God.
Many a crumpled note He’s found;
Me, solo, denying His worth,
Charging helter-skelter o’er grace.
Why so merciless to my
Daughter? She is like me inside.
Flesh cloaks the spirit’s war inside;
Torn are the tears that shriek to God;
He mends and binds these wounds of mine;
Strength to live His life, I’ve found,
Is the purest essence of grace.
The life of Christ—my only worth.
Departed, can I be of worth?
By mortal death or death inside?
Smooth out my garment—crumpled grace—
Robe me with likeness of my God.
Motherhood is all I’ve found
For this life, this love, of mine.
My worth found inside God’s grace.
Grace to crumple a note of no worth;
My newness tailored from inside;
God’s life for me, for she, is found.
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