Poetry

---

I won't come before You, pleading my case
I can't, when I look into Your face
I'm not holy like You are, O Lord.
I'm not worthy, not humble
I trip and I stumble
I'm broken and foolish at best
but here in Your arms
I'm free from shame and harm
In You alone I find rest.
You call me Your daughter
You call me Your bride
You call me to stand
safe and secure by Your side.
You take my hand, scared and alone
with Yours, so gentle, yet torn by the world.
The hand of a King who lay down His throne
for the hateful, the wicked, His own.
Broken but precious, I run to you
and somehow, by Your love, I'm renewed.
Broken, but precious, I lay by Your side
I bow my head, willingly abide.
Drawn by the love of my Father
drawn by the fact that He calls me His daughter
Broken yet slowly becoming restored
by He who is love, now and forevermore.

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE